The Mind's Eye
by LadyDragon1316
Summary: After being sent to Skyrim by an ailing father, Deanne loses her brother and finds herself alone in the vast cold north. Even with the support of new friends and companions she may make, Deanne will have to depend on her own inner strength as she walks the path to a destiny greater than anything she could ever dream of.
1. Prologue

"Marc! Wait up!" She stumbled through the high grasses, trying stubbornly to catch up with her brother. But she just couldn't go fast enough.

"Go home, Deanne," she heard him shout from somewhere ahead of her.

But she just picked up her knees more and tried to jump a little with every step. She was old enough to keep up. She was! "I'm coming!" She fought her way through the grass until a stone caught her foot and sent her sprawling. Stalks bent, the very things that had impeded her now caught her fall. Deanne clambered up and tried to spot her brother through the swaying fronds

"Marc? Marc?!"

He didn't answer her. The wind swept through the field, the blades of high grass and dancing seed pods drowning out any sound of his movements. Deanne couldn't hear him. Didn't know which way he'd gone. But she didn't want to just go home. Not now that he'd finally taken her exploring outside the city. So, the child picked a direction and set off again, trying to catch up with him.

"Marc?"

She ran on, kicking her way through the grass. Where was he?

"Marc!"

She put on an extra burst of speed, pumping her little legs in the direction she thought he'd gone.

"Marc!"

The laurel curtain disappeared and she fell over the edge of an overgrown ravine, tumbling head over heels down the slope through brush and branch. Deanne curled tight and squeezed her eyes shut as the undergrowth scratched and clawed at her, up and down twirling around her. Her descent halted abruptly with an enormous burst of pain and the world went out.

...

The girl woke alone. Her head hurt terribly, inside and out, like the blacksmith was pounding on it instead of a horseshoe. Her whole body ached, too, but her head was worse. Beyond the pain, she was cold. And wet. There were insects buzzing all around her and the gentle gurgle of a stream.

Deanne tried to sit up. The world twisted, up and down switched places a few times while her head flashed with pain. She whimpered and held it tight until it faded. At least a little. Once down stayed down, she tried to crawl away from the stream. Moving hurt, but the cold water made everything worse. It was too dark to see now, so she had to feel her way across the little bank, pawing through dense ferns and plants she'd tumbled through until she reached the trunk of a small tree.

It was hard to think with her head still pounding. Where was she? And where was Marc?

The sound of a bird startled her and the girl shrieked, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Father warned her about wild animals. Were...were there any around? Was there was a bear or a mountain lion that would hear her and come and eat her? She was all alone. What could she do?

Deanne curled up against the tree, torn between the pain in her head and the fear of the world around her. Where was she? How long had she been down here? Had anyone come looking? Would they look here?

The girl felt her nose and eyes prick, and the tears well up. She wasn't gonna cry. Marc would laugh at her. He'd call her a baby. But…she was lost.

She was alone.

Someone had to find her.

"Marc?" she called, terrified something else might hear her, but more terrified that no one would find her at all.

Another sound from the trees above her shattered the quiet. Was it a bird? An animal? In her head, visions of horrible creatures took shape. What was she supposed to do? What was she supposed to do?!

"Marc!" she yelled again. "Papa!" Her fear mounted and hot tears coursed down her face. "Please! Someone!"

Someone…please, someone find her…


	2. The Comfort of Home

**Hello readers. Here is another of the storylines that has congealed in my mind to the point where I just had to start writing it down. I figured it would be cruel for me to just post up a prologue, so here's a first chapter as well. Enjoy.**

Within the comfortable confines of their small home, a young woman sat on her accustomed stool by the fire, knitting needles clicking gently in her hands. The scarf growing from them was the latest of many. The knitting was tight and even, though the designs were never quite the same. Each one was unique and everyone could tell who had made them. Just her little contribution to her family's income.

At the sound of bubbles breaking the surface of a thickened stew, she set the knitting aside and moved to kneel before the stove. Chosing the wooden spoon from the second hook on the right, she stirred the pot's contents, judging consistency before raising a spoonful to her lips. She blew, tasted, then added a bit of salt from the bowl to the left. Satisfied with dinner's progress, she returned to her seat, reached down until she felt her knitting and went back about her work while she waited.

She heard footsteps approaching before the door opened. Most people knocked first, so it must be—

"Marc?"

Deanne received a grunt in return as he closed the door.

"Are you alright? Did anything happen?" He'd been gone a while.

"I've got the medicine, okay? Quit hovering. It's not like he's going anywhere."

At his words a shadow passed over her heart that made her fear otherwise. But she said nothing. She didn't want to think of such things.

Marc strode across the room and put the vial into her hands along with a weathered bit of paper. "And some letter for him too."

Deanne hesitated even as she accepted it. "Why don't you give it to him?" she asked hopefully. It had been so long the two had gotten along. But perhaps with a bit more contact—

Marc snorted. "You can get to him just fine. And I'm tired." He immediately went over and around the partition that separated his bed from the house and she heard him flop onto the bed.

He was in one of his ill moods. They seemed to plague him often since he'd come home from the capital, his bitterness and annoyance growing over the months. Perhaps it was all the responsibility, having to support them since their father had fallen ill. Whatever the reason, he troubled her. There would be no talking to him or convincing him to do anything just now. So Deanne tucked the paper into her pocket and went about preparing a cup of tea to accompany the medicine.

"Marc?" came a reedy voice from another room.

"I'm here, father," was the reply, spoken brusquely from where he lay.

Their father must have heard the mood in Marc's voice as well because he did not call again.

Deanne finished preparing the tea and went into her father's room. She took the three steps to his bedside and offered the tea. "Your medicine, father. Marc brought it." She hoped such mentions of due credit might bridge the gap between them. But so far, nothing seemed to have come of it. That didn't mean she would stopped trying. As he took the cup from her, she retrieved the letter that Marc had brought. "And mail as well."

He set the tea on his bedside table with a gentle clink, then took the paper and opened it quickly. "Ah, good. I was hoping for this. Marc, come in here!"

Deanne heard the groan from the other room, after which her brother heaved himself up and plodded in to join them. As interested as Deanne was to know what the letter contained, she reminded, "Your medicine, father."

"Oh, yes. Thank you, dear." He picked up the cup and drank it down in one gulp with a grimace to punctuate. Thank the Eight she'd thought to temper it with cooler water. "Tastes retched as ever. Wish they'd pick kinder ingredients."

"Well, it's not like I can do anything about that, now can I?!" Marc snapped, taking the comment an assignment of blame.

Their father sighed rather than try to set him straight, which told Deanne he was feeling worse. She hoped the medicine would work quickly, but it seemed to be doing less and less every week. And the shadow over her heart grew darker.

Rather than get into another argument with his son, the old man said, "My children, I came to a decision some time ago. And now that I've received this, preparations can be made. You can no longer remain here."

"What?" Deanne cried, grasping for his hand. "Why?!"

He reached out and and patted the back of her arm, saying gently, "Because I am dying, my dear."

Marc said tersely, "Well, we've known that for a while."

She twisted back toward him. "Marc!"

Their father patted her arm again, calling her to calm. "No, no, Deanne. Marc is right."

The young woman turned back to him. "But the medicine. It's going to make you better! The priests said so."

Her father laughed gently, seemingly at peace with this terrible thing. "It does make me better. But 'better' is not 'well', Deanne."

Her face must have told all because he reached forward and touched her cheek to comfort her. Tears cascaded down her cheeks at the contact. She fell forward and buried her face in his shirt, unable to stop herself. He couldn't die! He just couldn't!

Marc was far from overcome. "So where are you sending us?"

As he held her, their father replied, "I sent correspondence to an old friend of mine a while ago and this is the reply. You remember my mentor, don't you?"

"Tolder, or something."

"Tolfdir," the older man corrected. "He's still an instructor at the College of Winterhold in Skyrim. I've told him about both of you and he's willing to let you stay at the College indefinitely."

"Winterhold?" Deanne said hesitantly, lifting herself briefly from her father's embrace. "In Skyrim? Why so far away?"

While she questioned, Marc became incensed. "I don't need your pity," he spat. "If I wanted to study magic somewhere else, I'd do it myself. I don't need your help!"

"If that is how you feel about it, then don't stay. If your pride demands you go it alone, then do so. But after you have gotten your sister there safely."

Marc snorted, taking the whole proceeding as an attack on him. "Of course. So I'll abandon my poor little sister _and_ an opportunity to better myself. Is that the size of it? Or I be the dutiful man of the house, limping about on my father's crutch!"

"Marc—"

"No, I see. Me and my pride. Me and my temper. It's always me that's the problem! Me who's the disappointment! Even though it's me that's kept this whole family afloat since you got bedridden. Oh yes, father, I see. A dying man's last request! Of course I'll do it. I'd be a scoundrel not to, right?!"

"Marc, stop it!" Deanne cried desperately.

Marc stomped out of the room without bothering to apologize. "I'm out of here!" He swept his robe up and an instant later the door slammed shut so hard that the shelves on the same wall rattled.

Deanne was dumbfounded. When had he gotten so angry? And why couldn't she do anything right to ease him?

Her father rubbed the back of her hand, still clasped in his. "It's alright, Deanne. He'll come back."

She nodded and tried to let that comfort her as she turned to face what had been casting the horrible shadow in her heart all this time. "I don't want you to die. I don't want to leave you."

"I know, my dear. But I don't want you to see me waste away, either. Better you remember me as I am now and get a head start on your journey. I know I won't last until the winter, and the journey that far north will be hard enough in the fairer season. You need to leave as soon as possible now that Tolfdir has agreed to take you."

Deanne persisted. "But why can't we just stay here?"

His sad smile could be heard in his voice. "We have not made such good friends here that you would be well taken care of. But Tolfdir and I were close as kin before I left the College. And I told him how gifted you both are. There will be a place for you there. And without all the ambitions and politics of the Synod or the College of Whispers. Trust me, my dear, this is for the best."

"And what about Marc?"

The old man sighed. "Marc is determined to make his own way. I don't know if he'll stay with you. I hope so. But…you need to be prepared to do without him, if it comes to that."

Her eyes stung anew. The young woman squeezed her eyes shut and shook her head forcefully. "I can't. _I can't!_"

Her father kissed her forehead and pulled her toward him. Deanne threw herself inside his paternal protection, wishing she could stay there forever, safe from the world. "You are stronger than you think, my darling daughter. But _you_ need to believe that. Have courage. Your life is only just beginning."

The young woman cried in his arms for a while. She tried to be strong. Tried to find the courage he wished for her. But all she found was terror. Terror of losing him. Terror of being alone should her brother depart from her as well. And terror especially of the world outside their home that she was to be thrust into with so little warning. A world that seemed darker to her than ever before.

**So that's the beginning of 'The Mind's Eye'. Let me know what you thought. I'll keep writing.**


	3. The Road North

**Another chapter of Mind's Eye. I'm kind of impressed that just about every reviewer hated Marc. I mean, that was the intention. I just didn't expect it to be taken to so quickly. Props to you, audience.**

Deanne clutched her pack tightly with one arm and her father's arm with the other, not daring to let go of him. Not for an instant. Because even if he had gone to the trouble of arranging this, and all the plans were made and now being set in motion, the woman still did not want to leave him.

It had been hard for him to get all the way to the city's gates, even with the assistance of her shoulder and that of his cane. But he'd made the effort besides, wishing to see them both off.

"Are you sure you can't come with us?" Deanne whispered, unable to speak any louder through the tightness of her throat.

"No. I wouldn't make the journey, and it would only add complication and expense. You'll be better off going without me."

She tightened her hold on him, noticing how much thinner he was now than he had been even a month ago. How long would he last once they were gone? Gods, why was this happening?

Marc came back from speaking with the driver. "We're all set. He'll get us to Bruma. We'll get another from there into Skyrim. Then work our way up to Winterhold."

"Do you have your papers?"

"Yes, father. I've got 'em. And remember you can't go back to the house," he reminded, as if fully expecting their father to have forgotten.

Marc had finalized the sale of their home this morning, along with the sale of everything they could afford to do without. To the best of her knowledge, Marc carried the bulk of their earthy wealth in coin and all that remained of their possessions was in the bags they carried.

"Yes, Marc. I do remember."

Deanne asked hesitantly, "Will you be alright, father?"

He chuckled softly. "The Chapel will take good care of me until my end."

"We've paid them enough," Marc grumbled. Before their father could take a breath, Marc went on. "I know, I know. 'Donated'. Look, the cart's waiting. So let's get on with it." There wasn't the least pause before his heel turned in the dirt and he strode back over to hoist himself into the cart.

Deanne felt herself come to the verge of tears again. Couldn't he gather even a little gentility? This was the last time they would all be together. Even if the two didn't get along, this was still their father.

The young woman turned into the older man's embrace. "Don't worry about me, my dear," he reassured her. "I've led a full life. And I want you to do the same."

She hugged him tight and tried to ingrain every detail of this into her memory. "I love you, father."

"And I love you, my dearest Deanne." She wish they could have had more time. She wished this hadn't been so sudden.

Someone yelled "Hoi!" from the front of the cart and her father released her. "It's time to go."

She nodded mutely and clung to him as he walked her to the back of the cart amidst the few others who were making this journey with them and helped her get in. Up in the cart, Marc took her arm more business-like and maneuvered her around the various mercantile being shipped to sit her down in the very corner behind the driver. He didn't sit with her, instead hopping out of the cart to walk along beside. Deanne placed her pack in her lap and wrapped her arms around it, needing something to hold on to.

A few minutes later the cart lurched forward and they started their way down the road. Deanne lifted her hand and waved back toward her father. She hoped he saw her. And that she didn't look as afraid as she felt.

Meanwhile the wheels rolled forward, grinding dirt and bumps beneath them as they carried her away, helpless as a newborn. Away from Skingrad, and her home and her father. Away from the only life she'd ever known. And into the great wide world.

XXX

The travel was uneventful, which was a blessing, she supposed. Deanne marked the passage of the landscape but, with no knowledge of how to reference their location, she had no idea where they were or how far they were from their destination. Some people rode in the cart, most walked alongside to ease the burden on the horses. Deanne never left her seat.

Marc did not ride with her at all. She heard him talking around the cart periodically, but it was never to his sister. He didn't do much more than sit her by the fire when they camped either. It pained Deanne that he was still so distant. After all, it was just the two of them now. Sure, she wasn't the easiest of siblings to take care of, and she needed him much more than he needed her. But they were family. They wouldn't see their father again. All they had was each other.

Shortly into their journey, she decided she wanted to do something for him. And, with nothing else to occupy her during the day, she pulled out her knitting needles and one of the skeins of yarn she carried. It was a bit more difficult to knit with the cart bumping along on the road, but she kept to her work diligently.

On the third day of travel, they passed the Imperial City where Marc had once studied magic. But they didn't go inside; instead the cart parked itself in the little town of Weye before the bridge. Deanne wondered if the capital looked very different now from the way it had before the Great War. Not that she would ever know.

They kept going north. Deanne felt the road begin to angle steadily upward. Before long the temperature dropped and she had to pull out her cloak. Now she understood why so much coin had been spent on warm coverings for the both of them. They hadn't even reached Skyrim yet and it was already so different from home.

She finished the scarf just before they had arrived at Bruma, Cyrodiil's northern-most city. Doubtless there were some dropped stitches in there, but it was warm. And she'd poured all her best wishes and the most pleasant thoughts she could muster into the weave. After the cart stopped, Marc helped her out of the cart and into another sitting her down amongst a different collection of goods behind a different driver.

"Marc," she said catching his attention before he could leave her in her new seat for the untold period before camp. She offered him the garment. "It's been getting colder. I made this for you."

He was silent for a few seconds. "Cold? This isn't anything, Deanne. It's gonna get a lot worse up in the Jeralls. You better start looking to yourself." Then he jumped down and walked off, leaving her holding the scarf.

Her eyes pricked but she swallowed the tears down, not wanting to shame him or herself. Why couldn't she do anything right?

Deanne settled back in her seat and wrapped the scarf around her neck, sealing in the warmth she had hoped to impart to her brother. The cart started off and, with nothing else to do, she retrieved another skein of yarn and kept busy.

Marc had been right. It did get colder. There was snow and the road became steep as they traveled up and over the Jerall Mountains. She heard Marc cursing the cold periodically as they went, but he never came to her about the scarf. In the meantime, she huddled beneath her cloak and kept quiet, not daring to complain and risk irritating anyone. Too soon, her hands became so cold she couldn't even knit. Had they reached Skyrim yet?

The change of incline was abrupt. One moment they were going uphill, then they crested a particular peak and their road shifted down. Deanne was only too happy when the temperature began to rise and the land around them became populated with living wilderness once again. Anything was better than the bleak, frigid peak.

Although this wilderness was nothing like home. She recognized no birds. Didn't know what kind of trees were rustling their leaves in the winds, or what creatures were wandering beyond the scope of her senses. It was frightening to be somewhere so new and different, not knowing what was out there beyond the cart. But there were worse things.

"What's that?" someone asked.

Deanne perked up as the driver answered, "Helgen. The Imperial Army's outpost for this road. Hope everyone's got their papers ready. Not sure if you'll leave here if you don't."

Marc had her papers and his own. He was the better choice to deal with this sort of thing. Deanne held on tightly to her pack, a little anxious that they were finally crossing the border. But she didn't need to be worried, did she? She'd heard there was a unrest brewing up here. But obviously neither of them had anything to do with that. There would be no reason for the Empire to detain them. Even telling herself so, Deanne couldn't help but hug her belongings tighter.

A pair of wooden gates opened in front of them and the cart ambled through. There were sounds of soldiers all around them, drills, patrols, shouted orders.

One soldier approached the cart and demanded, "Papers."

Every individual withdrew the documents for their passage. Even the driver. Although he did mutter lightly, "The Empire just loves their lists." The soldier didn't respond and looked over each page given to her, checking them through.

Other soldiers approached the back of the cart, probably to verify the cart's contents. They noticed her.

"One back here."

"She's my sister," Marc interrupted. "These are hers."

Deanne waited while the soldier checked over the documents Marc had handed over. "Everything seems in order," she said definitively.

One of the soldiers hopped up in the cart and inspecting the goods. Nothing was out of place or suspicious because he was out of the cart less than a minute later. Then the soldier in charge declared, "You're clear. The gate to the right. Welcome to Skyrim."

**Mostly a progression chapter. No main quest start up. Leave a review before you go, and I'll see you next chapter.**


	4. The Land of Skyrim

***sigh* My betas have vanished. My beta, my back-up beta, and the beta I didn't want to involve in an additional storyline is still in school. I'm rather tired of holding onto multiple chapters, so I'm posting this one without beta oversight. If you see any issues, let me know. Otherwise, enjoy.**

Deanne stayed tucked into the corner of the cart as they traveled into the land of Skyrim. She kept all of her senses open, trying to gather as much information as possible about this new place that she was going to call home. What would it be like? This place wasn't frightfully cold. In fact, Bruma had been a bit colder. So when did this temperate Skyrim turn into the frigid Skyrim she'd always heard about?

The young woman's musings were broken by the sounds of someone breaking through brush and branch to come out on the road off to their right.

"Hail!" came a rough voiced call with a thick brogue that was foreign to her ears. Was this the sort of Skyrim accent she would be hearing from now on?

The driver didn't give much of a verbal response and kept the cart moving.

"Headed to Riverwood? Mind if I travel alongside?" the newcomer asked.

"Not so sure I should be sharing so quickly with a wilder," the driver remarked. But he didn't shoo the newcomer off, so another was added to their traveling group.

In the next few miles, Deanne heard the newcomer and her brother begin talking.

"New to Skyrim?"

"Yes. How did you know?"

"Always Could smell a Heartlander. What brings you north?"

"Father died. He had some friends in Winterhold."

"Oi!" came the exclamation. "You've got a ways to go, don't ya?"

They talked and Deanne's knitting slowed so that she could pay attention. The newcomer turned out to be an adventurer of sorts. Marc grilled him about the way things were in Skyrim and the newcomer was only too happy to inform him: giants, saber cats, mammoths and ice wraiths in the wild. Ancient Nord ruins, abandoned Dwemer cities. The Forsworn in the west. The whole province on edge about the White-Gold Concordat. Deanne had no idea there was so much going on up here. As if she wasn't anxious enough about being in this new place already.

But Marc seemed excited. Deanne was glad for that at least. He hadn't been happy or excited for a long while now. Or at least he'd never been happy or excited around her or father for a long while. It was good to know he could still feel such things. Although, it made her wonder what the source of all his unhappiness was.

"The thing to watch out for are the markers that Falmer put outside their lairs. They bind up bones and the shells of chaurus and stake them at the doors. At least that's usually the case."

Deanne leaned up over the cart's edge and asked, "What's a Falmer?"

There was a pause in the conversation.

"Don't eavesdrop, Deanne! It's rude."

The young woman flinched as the excitement fled Marc's tone and he turned bitter once again. She dropped her head. "Sorry. I didn't mean to… Sorry." She lowered herself down from the cart's edge again and back to her seat on the floor.

A minute later, she heard the newcomer ask, "Who's that?" He'd lowered his voice, but Deanne could still make out every word.

"My sister," Marc said, as if admitting a mortal flaw.

"Hm… Not bad."

"You want her? You can have her." Deanne felt a cold shiver run up her spine when she could detect no humor in his tone.

"Nah," was the reply. "Not my type. I need a woman who'll bite me back in bed. There's this warrior woman in Whiterun: Uthgerd the Unbroken. Now _that's_ a proper Nord woman. Couldn't even get her in the sack until we'd bloodied each other up."

At that point Deanne tried to focus back on her knitting. At least until they were done talking about women. Marc seemed particularly interested in all of the newcomer's treasure hunts. Where he'd gone. What he'd found. Deanne was interested, too. But she'd already learned she wasn't welcome in this conversation and did not interrupt again.

They arrived in Riverwood just before sunset and spent the night there. The newcomer remained with them when they started off again in the morning. Whiterun was another day away, over which the rush of leaves gave way to the whisper of grass. It reminded Deanne of the fields outside Skingrad, only without the smell of flowers and fruit and wine.

When the cart rolled to a stop outside of Whiterun, the one who had traveled with them tried to convince Marc to enter the city. "The Bannered Mare's got warm beds and cold mead. It don't get much better than that. I'll even buy the first round."

But Marc declined. "We haven't the gold to spare. Barely enough to get us to Winterhold as is."

The newcomer wasn't insulted by the dismissal. "Well, whenever you get it in your head to actually take up the adventuring path, you look me up."

"I'll do that."

The newcomer bid farewell and Marc fell back into his sullen persona when he was gone. "Come on, Deanne." He grabbed her arm more roughly than usual and went about finding a place to lay their pallets where there were fewer rocks to dig into their backs.

He roused her early the next morning and took her down to where another cart was waiting for service.

"How much to get us to Winterhold?"

"Fifty gold," the Nord driver replied.

Marc balked. "Fifty gold!?"

"For each of you."

"That's highway robbery!"

"No, it's _because_ of highway robbery. What with the war goin' on, there are fewer guards on the road, which means more bandits and marauders than ever. With us, you've got an easy ride and protection from the riffraff. But if you'd rather huff it alone, be my guest. I'll make sure to tell the hold guards when I pass your bodies on the road."

Marc growled, "I was told it was twenty gold. Not fifty."

"Twenty if you were goin' to Windhelm. Winterhold's a minor hold. Out of our usual way. That's extra."

Deanne felt Marc fume. She knew they didn't have much coin to their names. But this was a necessary cost. Once they got to Winterhold, everything would be fine. It would be stable. But they had to get there first.

"Marc…"

He didn't even seem to have heard her. Having thought furiously, he ultimately declared, "You'll get fifty now and fifty once we arrive."

The driver wasn't impressed. "That's not how it works, laddie."

"It's how you'll work this time! I'm not about to hand over what's left of our coin to someone who's just as liable to leave us on the road somewhere as do as he claims."

The scrutiny the driver turned on Marc was palpable. "In my experience, those who don't trust folk are untrustworthy themselves. Let's see the gold. All of it."

Marc growled but shrugged Deanne off to pull out their coin purse. He opened the bag and thrust its contents into the driver's view. The man grunted in begrudging satisfaction, at which point Marc dug into the bag. "Fifty now. Fifty when we arrive."

"Fine, laddie," was the reply as the coin was exchanged. "We'll start off in a few hours. Hop in back."

Marc grabbed her arm and dragged Deanne with him to the back of the cart to hoist her in. Once he'd given up their fare, his anger seemed to dissipate a little. He wasn't muttering to himself or huffing under his breath. He just sat rigidly but quietly beside her. Deanne took that to be a good sign.

If only she were less of a burden. If she could help him some and contribute more then that might not put so much stress on him, which might at least shrink the gap between them a little. If he stayed at the College with her then she was going to make some changes: do more for him and require less caring for. She wasn't a little girl anymore. She had to start learning such things.

This was the first time she actually hoped that that her burden was what made him so sullen. Deanne did so want her brother to be happy, and it truly pained her that she might be the obstacle to him achieving that. But at least, now that she knew the cause, she could do something about it. Yes, she did hope that she was the cause. Otherwise, she would be back to square one, only guessing how to make him happy when Marc refused to share anything with her.

Over the next couple of hours a few more people came for passage. There were a some shipments going to Windhelm and some people as well. By the time they started, their traveling group was about the size it had been when the other cart had arrived at Whiterun, although with entirely different people.

When they started on their way, the sun's warmth was creeping up the back of her head. They rode in silence for the most part, Deanne clutching her pack close and Marc remaining particularly quiet, as if in deep thought. Again, Deanne took this an improvement. The whole journey up until now, he'd made a point to keep his distance from her. Now he was seated right next to her without fidgeting or purposefully ignoring her existence. The young woman tried not to smile that he stayed beside her. She didn't want anything to scare off this fragile atmosphere that had formed around them.

An hour or so into their travel, after the cart had passed over a rushing river, Marc abruptly pulled his pack open and started riffling through it. He sat up with a harsh grunt and said, "My papers are gone."

"Gone?"

"I must have left them somewhere. I have to go back and get them."

Deanne reached out and took his arm hurriedly. "Now? We didn't even go into the city."

"Then I must have left them in Riverwood at the inn."

"Riverwood? That's a day away!"

"I know that," he told her. "But I need those papers. You know how important they are."

Deanne swallowed and tried to draw up her courage. "Okay…" All the way back to Riverwood? "…Okay, let's go back and look for them."

"I can move faster on my own," Marc said. "And I already gave that gold to the driver. I'll go back and find my papers. You stay here."

"Alone?!" She hadn't been left alone in a strange place in so long. And this wasn't Skingrad. This was the middle of a strange province that she already felt was too big. "Can't we just go to Winterhold and get replacements from there. I still have my papers in my pack. Won't they work for both of us?"

"I'm not shoeing out another septim for this trip. And your papers only have _your_ name on them. I can't go _anywhere_ without mine." It sounded like he was talking about more than just within this Province. Marc stood up and pulled his arm out of her grasp. "Don't be a child, Deanne. Just stay in the cart. This thing moves so slow I'll catch it no problem."

He plodded down the cart, around people's feet and bags, and dropped off onto the dirt road with a crunch of gravel.

Deanne leaned over the cart's edge and called, "Be careful!"

Marc didn't reply as he set off back the way they'd come. Deanne could only sit back down in her seat and try to remain calm. It helped to think about something other than the fact that she was alone amongst strangers. Like the travel Marc was going to do. Whiterun was a few hours away. The cart was moving a little faster than walking speed and keeping to the road. Marc could cut across country and catch up after he'd found his papers. It all depended on where he'd left them.

But what if something caught _him_? What if he ran into a saber cat or a giant? Suddenly that adventurer's stories were no longer intriguing, but terrifying.

Deanne hugged her belongings closer and started praying for his safety. She could remember every prayer she'd ever heard at the Temple and recited them all in her mind. She hoped it did more than just pass the time. And all the while, she listened for Marc's return over the roll of the wheels and the conversation happening between the other riders.

The air grew cold as they pulled northward and colder still as evening fell. The cart bucked slightly as the driver pulled it off the road and brought it to a halt.

"Alright folks, pile out. We'll camp here before we cross the snowline."

Deanne stiffened, half glad and half frightened. The day had passed already? And Marc had yet to appear. But at least they had stopped. He'd better be able to catch up if they weren't moving.

As people disembarked to make camp, Deanne tried to get the driver's attention. It was hard. She wasn't used to talking to people. Her voice came out as barely more than a whisper.

"E-excuse me."

He spoke more kindly to her than he had to her brother's antagonism. "Aye, lass."

She had to swallow before she could form more words. "C-could I stay in the cart…please?"

"Sure thing, lass," he said pleasantly. "Although we'll have a fire going soon enough. It'll be warmer."

"Thank you," she replied. "But…I'd rather just stay up here."

He gave a sound of relenting and went to unhitch the horses and talk to their hired guards about watch duty.

Deanne, meanwhile, rearranged some of the bags still in the cart and laid her sleeping pallet out along the back of the driver's bench. Without Marc here, she wanted to make sure that she didn't miss the cart leaving. The driver seemed nice enough to her, but she didn't want to take the chance that she be forgotten. Now that she had to take care of herself for a while, it was just better to be overly cautious about this kind of thing.

She ate as little of her foodstuffs as could quiet the pangs of her hunger and lay down to sleep. The rest itself was a little fitful, but it lasted through the night.

She woke to the camp's waking: people talking, pots clanking, armor being put on. Deanne rolled up her pallet quickly and was seated for travel before the horses were even hitched up. But once they were and people started getting up into the cart, Deane began to get nervous.

She sat up and addressed the driver. "Ha-has my brother come back yet?" Given his tendencies, Marc's first priority might not have been to make himself known to her if he had.

"Sorry, lass. Not yet."

Deanne hesitated, then dared to ask, "Could we…stay a bit longer?"

The man adjusted some things in the back. "No can do. We've got limited sunlight. And with bandits on the road, the longer we stay in one place the better chance we have of being set on. Gotta get going."

"But…" Her voice faded as her fears choked her up.

"Look, lass, we've got a transaction here. With the fifty gold I've got, I swear I'll get you to Winterhold. But we're not waiting on your brother." With that he gave a last yell to their guards, then flicked the reins and set the cart forward and back onto the road.

Deanne felt torn. She turned in her seat back down the road, but clutched the side rail for dear life. He probably reached Riverwood last night and found his papers. He could catch up today, or tomorrow. There was still time.

But she was also worried for him. He was one man on the road, no guards or people to look out for him. What if bandits decided he was a better target than the cart? What if he was attacked and left on the road somewhere? What if he already had been? Who would find him? He didn't have anyone. And now, neither did she.

Deanne's confliction mounted. Part of her wanted to go after him. If something had happened to Marc, she had to be there for him. That was what family did.

But if he was out there, how would she find him? How would she take care of him? What if she got lost herself? What if something happened to her in pursuit of him? What if she was worrying for nothing and Marc came back to the cart to find her gone and had to backtrack to find and help _her_?

But staying… It was cowardly. Her best chance was in the cart. The driver had said he would get her to Winterhold, but that was just because of the money. Yes, if she went after Marc, she would be alone for the task. But once she found him, it would be her and her brother. Not her and a stranger.

And if she _didn't_ go after him, what kind of a sister did that make her? They were family. They were supposed to stick together and look out for one another.

But the world was so big. And she'd never been out on her own in the way she was now contemplating. Chances were slim that she could find her way at all, let alone find Marc.

Deanne sat there on the edge of the bench, her spine craned toward the back of the cart and her hand gripping the side rail until her fingers hurt, wanting to go but being terrified of doing it. And in the end…she couldn't do it. Deanne slowly withdrew from the edge of the bench until her back was to the wooden siding. She couldn't do it. The world was just too big for her to face it like that on her own.

And Marc?

Marc knew how to take care of himself while she did not. He could travel alone as she would never be able to. He knew magic. He knew the province, at least in writing. If anyone was better off going it alone, it was him. Her brother would have a much better chance of getting to her than she had of getting to him.

He would be back. She just needed to be patient and have faith.

He'd be back.

He would…

**I hope you liked it. I've got a few more chapter saved up, but I'll wait until next weekend before I post again...just to make you lot suffer. Muahahahaha!**


	5. The Cart and the Cave

**Yippee! My beta returns. So you lot get the next chapter! Woohooo!**

The cart stopped about midday to water and feed the horses. The other people got out, groaning in exaggerated relief and stretching their legs. Deanne didn't want to move. Stay with the cart. Marc had said to 'stay with the cart'.

The driver spoke up to her once everyone else had disembarked. "You wanna step out for a bit, lass?"

She shook her head silently. Stay with the cart. Marc had to come back soon. And when he did, Deanne would be exactly where he'd left her.

Without other people around, Deanne felt the pressure of their eyes lift. She didn't have anyone to keep up the appearance of calm for. It was hard to keep up such a thing when there was so much turmoil inside. And absent that pressure, Deanne felt her eyelids drooped. All the tension of waiting expectantly for Marc and the restless sleep from last night… She was more exhausted now than she'd ever been. Maybe she could get a little rest . After debating it, Deanne decided to curl up underneath the bench. They'd crossed the 'snow line' earlier in the day and she felt the chilly kiss of each flake on her skin. She'd curl up under here to keep from being snowed upon.

Deanne lowered herself to the cart floor and wiggled under the seats. Doubtless she would look silly to the other riders, but she didn't care much right now. Although, after she'd gotten settled with her head on her precious pack, sleep itself was slow in coming. The young woman let her mind drift and her ears opened to the activity around the cart.

"We don't have to rush today. Nightgate Inn's a few hours away. We'll need a full day tomorrow to get to Windhelm. For those of you who want to, we're doubling back, then north for Winterhold after that—"

"_Aaaah_—!"

A sudden shriek was cut off just as abruptly. Someone hit the snow and Deanne was wide awake.

"Take cover! We're under attack!"

Swords cleared sheathes and people ran for cover all around the cart. Battle cries closed in from all directions. Deanne heard a hard thunk in the wood above her. Arrows? She drove herself deeper into the corner under the bench. A terrible commotion rose up out beyond her refuge. There was fighting. And dying! She heard the driver yell in horror, a frightening thud signalling he end of his last cry.

All Deanne could think to do was hide. She reached out from under the bench and grabbed whatever came to her hand: bags, boxes, cloth. She pulled all of it toward her and around her, anything to hide her from view. What else could she do? She couldn't fight. Even with people dying all around her, she could only think to hide.

Deanne curled up tighter, barely breathing as she listened to the battle. Yells became guttural and strangled. Battle cries rose in pitch to those of victory. She didn't even know what to feel because she didn't know who was winning.

Gradually the commotion faded, and that was when Deanne's heart sank. The sounds of congratulation around the cart were not the voices she'd heard over the last few days.

"Load 'em up! Let's take the lot and get this off the road. We'll pick 'em clean back at the hideout."

Oh no…

The strangers moved around the area quickly. There was exertion and the cart jolted as something landed in it. Then again. Deanne closed her eyes and clamped a hand over her mouth. She didn't want to know what they were loading. Shortly after the loading stopped, her stomach was lurched as the cart started forward. Deanne held the contents of her stomach down as she was bumped over rough terrain, the sounds of the bandits all around her talking and complaining in rough rural tones. Oh no, oh no, oh no!

She couldn't think. Her mind was just a blur of fear. What did she do? What _could_ she do?! There was no way out. If she tried to get out of the cart, they'd see her. If she didn't… Where were they going? What was going to happen to her when they got there?!

Deanne stayed curled in place, frozen stiff, terrified lest the slightest sound or movement reveal her while the sounds of the bandits surrounding the cart further entrapped her. The fear did not even thaw when the air around them became abruptly warm and the sounds of the cart echoed back from newly appeared walls. If anything, the fear became worse until her heart threatened to pound straight out of her chest.

The cart rolled to a halt. The young woman's petrified mind yielded the slightest hint toward escape. Maybe, if she waited until they all fell asleep, she might have a chance… But how would she get out of their hideout? Where was the door? And where would she go once she got outside?

The horses! If she could somehow find one and get on. She'd heard that horses returned to their stables when set loose. If she rode one out of the cave and then let it pick its path, then it would take her back to its home. There would be people there. People who might help her!

"Nice haul," a new, particularly gruff voice remarked. "…for an amateur. Do these even look like wealthy folk to you?"

"Hey, we saw guards. Means there's got to be something worth guarding, right?"

"Whatever. Get 'em unloaded and stripped before they start to smell."

Deanne shivered. No, no, no! They were going to unload the cart. If they moved any of the bags she'd surrounded herself with, they'd see her. But she didn't dare try to secure her hiding place. Or attain any other. Especially not when the cart itself tipped slightly with the mounting of a living body into the back. The cart shifted again, a weight was lifted and Deanne flinched when it hit the ground with a soft thud. She didn't dare let herself imagine what it was; but one did not 'strip' sacks and bags.

"Spare the rod, why don't you!"

"Hey, I heard 'better dead than alive'."

The horses were unhitched and led away, snorting disagreeably at what the bandits were piling up. Deanne tried to keep track of the direction they were being taken. Those horses were her only hope of escaping this. She couldn't lose track of them.

So focused was she on where they were going, when her ankle was grabbed a fraction of her pent up terror erupted from her mouth before she could stop it.

"We've got a live one here!"

Deanne failed to kick herself loose before she was dragged all the way out from her hiding place and dumped onto the ground. She tried to stand, but found too irregular of a brace on the cold bodies that had only hours before sat living on the cart benches with her.

Someone grabbed her arm hard and hauled her to her feet. She immediately tried to wrench herself free, digging at the hand with her fingers, yanking with all her strength.

"And she is kicking," her captor remarked, as though pleased.

Deanne kept up her attempts at escape, not knowing what else to do.

"Give her here!" someone else yelled.

Her shoulder was almost popped out of joint when her captor wrenched back on her futile attempts. His hands clapped around her shoulders, then she was shoved forward into another waiting pair of arms. This one grabbed her just as tight and Deanne shrieked when he proceeded to run his tongue up her neck.

Deanne was tossed from person to person, each one of them grasping and fondling her, and ripping her clothing before pushing her off to the next one who yelled for her. She had no chance to gain her own feet amidst the shoving and was left utterly to their mercy. Or lack thereof. And all the while the bandits laughed and caterwauled as though they found sport in torturing her.

Her careening was halted by a solid wall of armor that planted itself in her path. It wasn't out of kindness. The grip he took on her arm was hard enough to bruise.

"Alright, knock it off and get back to work. All of you!"

A chorus of disappointed dissent swelled up all around her.

"Come on, we only just got started."

"And you'll keep going 'till it's done. If you think you'll get any tail for this sorry job, you've got ice in your brains."

Deanne was dragged off by the one who seemed to be their leader. He took her away from the other bandits and up a wooden ramp onto an elevated platform.

All the way Deanne struggled against his hold, begging, "Let me go! Let me go! Please!"

"Well, since you asked so nice." He yanked her forward and threw her onto a hard wooden frame overlain with furs. A bed. There was a light plink of leather and metal as he undid his belt behind her, saying smugly, "The perks o' bein' the boss."

Deanne rushed to stand, but he caught her and threw her back. "Stay down! You do good here, maybe I'll keep you a while before I give you back the rabble."

"No, no!"

She turned and tried to get over the bed and away to the other side. He grabbed her ankle and dragged her back. Then he was on top of her. She fought him, trying to get her fingernails into his face, but to no avail. He caught her wrists easily and pinned them over her head. His free hand started tearing the rest of the way through her clothing. Deanne had been dressed in most of her warm winter wear when the cart had been attacked. It was the only reason she still had anything between herself and him after what his band had done below.

Deanne struggled in every way she could, writhing in his grip and thrashing her legs in an attempt to deal any damage she could, and screaming for him to stop.

The platform was elevated but open. Her screams filled the cavern and so did the jabs from the bandits.

"Sounds like she's a screamer!"

"Havin' a little trouble there, _boss_? Can't handle one little Imperial?"

Deanne got one leg free when her assailant went to pull off her leggings and kicked him as hard as she could. She hit something and he cursed loud. Her victory was short lived as the man backhanded her across her face. Before the pain even faded from her, he flipped her over and all his weight went to holding her down on the bedframe.

He snarled at her, "I gave you the chance to do this civil."

Her struggles were greatly reduced without any leverage to either escape or hurt him. But she didn't stop screaming. Not even when the cold air reached the skin of her upper leg. If anything, her volume increased.

"Keep it down, you skeever turds! I'm tryin' to focus here!"

Deanne didn't even realize hers weren't the only screams echoing into the chamber until they rose to match her own.

On top of her, the bandit leader roared, "I told you lot to—_What in Oblivion is that_!?"

Amidst the alarmed yells of the bandits, something barreled into the chamber, roaring like a feral beast. But that wasn't Deanne's immediate focus. The instant her assailant loosened his grip, Deanne writhed a leg free and kicked out with more accuracy. She struck his abdomen with her heel and it earned her a grunt of pain and a further lessening of his weight. The man hauled her up and threw her down on the ground. Her head struck the side of the bedframe enough to daze her, but she heard him grab something heavy from nearby and leap down the ramp he'd dragged her up, shouting orders.

Those orders were almost completely drowned out by what was happening below. It was worse than the attack of the cart. Something was tearing through the chamber and through everyone in it. Something big whose roars did not mask the destruction it wrought. Flesh was torn and bones broken, a sickening combination of wet ripping and cracks like lightening that bounced off the walls. Men screamed until they were torn apart by the monster that had come into their midst, any attack or defense going to waste.

When Deanne recovered her thoughts, her first was to crawl beneath the bed and hide from what was happening below. She kept going until she reached a wall and curled up there as small as she could, shutting her eyes and wrapping her hands over her ears. But there was no escaping the sounds of death that told her far too much about what was bringing the end to bandits.

The massacre didn't last long. And when it was over, only the creature remained. Any relief Deanne might have felt at being delivered from the bandits was quickly eclipsed by the fact that she was now left alone with what had destroyed them.

She listened and heard it moving about beneath the platform. There was chewing and snapping of bones as it ate to satiation of its victims. Deanne tried desperately to control her breathing and stay absolutely silent. She didn't know what that thing was. Only that she did not want it to find her and do what it had done to those bandits.

The creature finished with its meal and sniffed around. The woman clapped a hand over her mouth and shut her eyes as she heard to its movement below. The thing roamed about, investigating its surroundings. Then a pause. It sniffed more pointedly. Deanne heard it draw nearer the platform.

She managed to stifle herself when it suddenly leapt up, slamming against the platform's frame and clawed its way over the railing and onto the elevated level. Deanne curled tighter and held her mouth closed, not daring even to swallow. The wood floor reverberated with the thing's heavy footsteps. Her heart concussed within her ribcage, ever faster as the thing came nearer her hiding place.

It paced around the bedframe, the sniffing marking every second of its approach. The bedframe jumped as it was struck. Deanne bottled down a shriek similar to the one that had given her away to the bandits and curled tighter against the wall, even going so far as to reach up and hold onto the bedframe, as if her meager strength might keep it in place.

The next instant ,the bedframe was gone, lifted in one colossal move and flung more than a body length away as if it were nothing but a small stool, leaving her utterly exposed. Deanne huddled where she was, curling herself tight and squeezing her eyes shut as her heartbeat raced out of control. The creature bent over her, a frightful sound growing from its throat and the smell of death pouring from its maw as it breathed.

Deanne quacked in indescribable terror where she lay. Her face flushed, her ears rang, her head became light. Skyrim suddenly felt too hot to bear. All of her senses began swimming, then rose as one to consume her. In Deanne's last seconds of consciousness, she gave thanks to the Gods that she would not be awake to experience her own death.

**Wow...intense... See you guys next week. Hopefully Deanne will survive that long.**


	6. My Savior

**I tried! I swear, I did! But these chapters are not going to stay short. Not this one. But the next chapter (now written) is longer. And I anticipate the chapter after being longer still. As it turned out, I am a novelist at heart. I can't keep to these little chapters with the kind of stories that go through my head. Just giving you a fair warning.**

**So, now that I've finished my update on things to come, read on. I left you hanging fair enough last chapter. XD**

When Deanne woke, she was warm almost to the point of perspiring. And when she shifted, it was hard to move at all, as if the heavy blanket of sleep was tangible and laid over her.

Her movement stirred something. At her back there was a masculine sound of slumber. An arm, previously draped over her now conformed to her waist and the substantial upper body that inhibited her movements rolled forward, further pinning her beneath its weight.

Consciousness came completely and instantaneously, and Deanne froze. The memories of the night before, of the bandits grasping and grabbing at her, leapt to the front of her mind. She still wore what remained of her clothes. But that didn't mean someone hadn't…_used_ her when she was unaware.

Deanne inched slowly away from the man lying against her. In the process she realized that he wasn't wearing any clothes…at all. Her blood ran cold. What had happened to her? What had he _done_ to her?

She was almost free when the man stirred again. His arm laced further around her waist, pulling her back and he shifted himself close, nuzzling into the base of her neck and mumbling, "Wher'r yoo goin'?"

Deanne's covert escape turned desperate. She threw her arms forward and tried to squirm free, kicking her heels against the ground to get away from him. She threw a foot back, catching him somewhere and hard enough that he grunted and snapped his arm back to ease the pain she'd caused. Deanne scrambled away, getting to her feet and rushing forward. The wooden railing of the platform slammed into her midsection within a few steps, knocking the breath out of her in return for her haste.

Behind her, the man was…laughing? A light chuckle, but she heard it clearly in the otherwise silent cave.

"You almost got me there."

'Almost' got him. She hadn't hurt him. Not one bit.

Deanne took what account of the room she could and dashed along the rail toward the wooden ramp. Her foot caught along the way and she tumbled down, her rush once again paid with pain and impediments.

The man gained his feet. "Hey, hang on there."

She flipped quickly onto her side, ready to kick out when he came close enough. It seemed the only defense she was capable of. That and begging, "Please, don't hurt me! _Please_!"

He stopped. "Hurt you? I wouldn't—Shor's bones!" He backed away a step and became insistent. "I didn't mean—! This isn't—! I know what it looks like, but I swear, I would never take advantage."

He spun away from her and searched hurriedly, his steps awkward. A couple of drawers later he pulled free a cloth garment and struggled with it for a moment. In that time, Deanne was able to stand again and tried to make it the rest of the way along the rail to escape. But she took too long, and when he turned about she halted in place, fearing he might set upon her if he saw her trying to run.

"Sorry, little one. That couldn't have been a welcome waking. But I swear, I did nothing unseemly to you."

The silence hung heavily between them. He made no movement toward her, but that didn't keep her knees from quacking. Especially with the cold of the chamber creeping between the tears in her clothes, reminding her of the state she was in.

She clutched the tatters to her, shaking, waiting. "What do you want?!" she almost shrieked, unable to stand the silence.

He didn't seem to have an answer. Or at least she thought that was why, instead of answering the question, he said, "I'm not going to hurt you, little one. See? No weapon. And that was…I can't really explain, but it didn't have anything to do with you, alright?"

The air between them became heavy again. Her knees continued to shake and she had to hold onto the railing to keep from crumpling to the ground.

"Are you alright?" he asked, sounding like he actually cared about the answer.

But the answer was 'no'. No, she wasn't alright. Everything had gone horribly, horribly wrong! This trip, the cart and the attack. She didn't know what to do! And she was alone. Completely alone!

Deanne gasped for breath as the panic surged through her. Every breath of air tasted like death. And her last memories of consciousness returned. "There's something here! It—it killed everyone! I heard it! It could still be here!"

"Hey, hey, take it easy," the man said quickly. "It's just me here."

"NO! It was here! I heard it!" The tearing of people limb from limb. Its jaws cracking bone as it devoured the bodies of its victims. The sound and smell of its breath when it found her. It _found_ her! "It was here! Right here! It—"

"Hey. Hey! Look at me. It's not here. There's nothing here. Nothing but me, alright."

No, it wasn't alright! _It wasn't alright_!

The panic provided fuel for its own flame, sending her mind spiraling out of control. A pair of strong hands clapped around her shoulders and she recoiled, feeling the bandits' grasping all over again. She struggled desperately, trying to get loose. But he wouldn't her go.

"Take it easy. Take it easy. It's alright. Nothing's going to hurt you. Do you hear me? Nothing is going to hurt you."

The bandits manhandling her! The bandits tearing at her clothing! The leader mounting her like—!

She fought against his grip. Anything to get away! Far from giving her space, he dragged her against him and wrapped his arms around her. Deanne went mad. She seized and convulsed, thrashing wildly, her screams filling the chamber. The bandits! The killing! The monster! Too much! _Too much_!

There was no telling how long she fought. It felt like an eternity that she spent on the brink of insanity without any way to escape it, her body beyond her control. And when her strength was spent, it vanished in an instant leaving her weak as a lamb. Deanne couldn't make her legs hold her. She couldn't do anything but go limp and weep.

The man, resilient before her emotional break, waited until she stopped fighting and then lowered them both slowly to the ground, never letting go of her. His arms, previously a restraint, proved a twisted sort of support now. In her mind, she couldn't separate him from the bandits, but she didn't have any fight left in her. She was just too spent after everything that had happened. All she could do was cry against his bare chest, unable to resist whatever he chose to inflict on her next.

For the time being, he chose to hold onto her and nothing more. When he did finally move, she was little more than a doll for his manipulation. And yet he set her down to sit somewhat comfortably atop her own legs. Then he wiped the tears from her cheeks with his hand.

"Easy there. You're alright. There's nothing here to hurt you. You're alright."

No. No it wasn't. But Deanne didn't have the strength to argue that point.

A little breath was granted to her. Enough to ask, "What…what are you going…to do to me?"

"I'm not going to do anything to you," he insisted. She didn't even have the strength to believe or disbelieve him. "Poor thing," he murmured. The man had to repeat his work when fresh tears charted new paths down her cheeks. "Can't believe there are still _wretches_ in the world that would do this." He said it so fiercely that a surge of fear ran through her. He seemed to notice and softened his tone, repeating, "But you're alright now. You're alright."

He kept saying that as though it would make it so. But it wouldn't. Her father was gone. Her brother was gone. The driver and everyone in the cart was gone. She was alone. Completely and truly alone in this world of strangers and monsters, and nothing could make that alright.

"Can you tell me your name?" he asked.

Her name?

Something about that question put ground beneath her feet. No one had asked her name since before she'd come into Skyrim. Since before she'd left Skingrad.

"…Deanne."

"Deanne. That is a beautiful name," he commented. "Can you stand up, Deanne?"

She hesitated, then shook her head. Ground beneath her feet did not mean strength. Although…hearing her name from someone… It helped.

"Alright then. I'm going to pick you up. But just for a moment. We'll get you to that chair so you can sit down properly. Understand?" Her nod was slow in coming, and he waited for it. And he took action unhurriedly after she had, like he knew how fragile her state of mind was at this moment.

Admittedly, there was a burst of panic when his arms closed around her again. But she was airborne, moved and set down before that panic could build enough to cause a reaction. And the chair was a welcome solidity when she herself felt as solid as vapor before the wind. Even just curling her fingers around the bottom of the seat made her feel better and made it easier to breath.

She still flinched away when the man touched her forehead with a damp cloth.

"You've got a bit of a bump. I'm just going to clean it." Strength still eluded her, so she had little choice other than to succumb to his ministering.

He was gentle. He didn't crowd her. Deanne kept waiting for him to do something. To touch her or take hold of her clothes or…anything. But he didn't. He just kept his distance and tended her hurts.

She couldn't take the suspense of waiting for him to do something heinous. "Why are you doing this?" she asked.

"I'm a Companion," he replied. "This _is_ what we do." He said it with purpose, but Deanne didn't understand what he meant.

He finished with the bump on her head. It didn't sting anymore and the ache was fading. Had he wetted the cloth with a healing potion? She didn't recognize the smell. He moved to her cheek where the bandit had hit her, using a single finger to angle her head so he could better reach the hurt, like he knew any more than one would be too much contact. The quiet stretched out around them while he worked. The rhythmic motions of the cloth across her skin were hypnotic, particularly since there was little else to focus on and little mental strength to focus with.

Her cheek had stopped hurting by the time he let the cloth drop. But he didn't move away.

"Deanne…" The sound of her name brought her back a little closer to the world. "Would you look at me a moment?"

The young woman turned toward him, wondering what other wound he'd seen. They held like that for a few seconds. Then his previously gentle tone took on an adamant inlay. "We need to get you to a healer. Right now. There's one in Whiterun at the Temple. It's a day's journey. But I can carry you."

The man reached for her. The feel of his enclosing arms roused the panic like a persistent froth. Deanne's arms leapt up to fend him off before she could think. "No, no! Don't touch me!"

"Listen to me. There's something wrong with your eyes. We need to get you to a healer—"

She didn't want him touching her. She didn't want anyone touching her! "No! Stop!"

"Deanne, your eyes are-"

"I've been blind since I was seven!"

Those words brought a halt to everything. The air, formerly heavy with silence, was now turned glacial by it. The wind across the distant cave entrance whistled. The fire of various torches crackled. But Deanne found herself counting the breaths of the man in front of her, and reading his thoughts in them.

One, shock.

Two, relief.

Three, the reaction she knew best, pity.

Deanne wanted to curl into herself and disappear. She hated telling anyone this. Her blindness had chained her ever since the accident that had caused her sight to flee. Chained within her home because she could not walk the streets without someone to cling to. Chained within the safe and the known because a single stone in the path could trip her up and a single wrong turn could leave her lost, even yards from her own front door. The world became too big for her once it had darkened.

She was an easy target and victim for anyone with ill intentions, and an object of pity for anyone with a good heart. They were good people, by and large, who pitied her. But that didn't mean she liked being looked at the way she knew they did. Quite the opposite: she hated it. It was one of the only negative emotions she could afford to harbor. When people learned she could not see, they pitied her and ever after would treat her differently. She became her detriment. And not even going to Skyrim could change that.

The arms that had been closing around her drew away, for which she could only be thankful, and the quiet stretched out.

"I'm sorry, little one."

A song she'd heard over and over again from anyone who met her and learned what she lacked. Deanne didn't like meeting new people. She didn't like hearing that same thing again and again.

The man sat back, his feet shifting against the wood as he settled in front of her. And the silence of the cave became heavy again as they both tried to decide where to go from there.

She'd never been on her own before. Not like this. In Skingrad, Deanne was either at home or in the Temple. Anytime she wasn't, she was always on someone's arm. Usually her father's. And if she wasn't, it was comforting to know that as long as she was within the confines of the city walls, she wasn't truly far from home.

But out here? She couldn't wander the wide world on her own. Here, one step outside the cave entrance, she wouldn't know which way was East or North, whether she walked toward a mountain or a cliff. Now that there was snow, it would be too easy to lose track of a road. She didn't know how to fend for herself or defend herself. And Skyrim was cold and desolate. Out here, with no one to help her, she was going to die.

Those words rang in her mind and sparked to life a base desire she'd never had to call upon: the desire to survive. She had to survive.

"How far is it to Winterhold?"

The man spent several seconds measuring distances in his mind. "On foot? A few days. Depends on if you find the right pass."

Her head shot up and Deanne prayed she was looking straight at him. "Would you take me there?!"

"What?"

The young woman lurched forward. She found his shoulders and grabbed on as best she could. "Please!" She didn't want to die. But she would if she was left alone. If he left her alone! "Please! The College of Winterhold! I have to get there. Please!"

Deanne didn't know who he was. If he was a hunter or an adventurer. Or even if he was one of these bandits that had escape the monster. She didn't know and, at this instant, she didn't care. He was all she had. If she was left on her own, Deanne knew she would die out here. She needed someone to help her. And there was no one else than this man. She _needed_ him. He just _had_ to help her.

Her mind scrambled for something she could offer. "We paid the driver for passage. The bandits must have taken it, but it's got to be here." How much had it been? "Fifty gold. More, with the others. Take it! Just, please—!"

"Hey, hey." The man peeled her hands off his shoulders and took them in his. Deanne held on with a death grip, knowing she would perish if she lost him. "Just calm down," he urged her. "I'm not going to just leave you here. I would shame myself. I'll get you to Winterhold. I swear it."

Rather than leap with joy, Deanne's heart deflated in relief. But her hands stayed tightly around his to the point of shaking. More than that, he gripped her back, providing an anchor. The only contact Deanne could fathom being more precious than his hands was an embrace from her own father. And however much she wanted to be held right now, Deanne knew she wouldn't be able to handle something like that from a stranger. But his hands holding hers… The only words she could call up didn't seem nearly enough to express what she felt.

"Thank you…thank you…"

**Blind? WHAT!? Yeah, I decided on that juicy little trait when I first came up for the concept of this story. So? How many of you guessed? I'd love to know how many people I caught off guard. **

**And, for those of you who'd like to, go ahead and read back. I NEVER said a word about her 'seeing' anything. XP**


	7. The Kindness of a Stranger

**Ok, the first of the long chapters. Hopefully no longer holding to a 'below 3k' limit will NOT lead to these things getting wordy. But I make no promises. **

**And now that we've gotten through the intense chapter, let's bring things down a little, shall we? Can't have that kind of drama all the time. I don't think we could take it.**

She'd never listened so hard in her life. Her eardrums were actually hurting from the strain. Deanne couldn't lose track of him. The man had left her seated on the platform and was now moving around the cavern collecting supplies. The Imperial tracked him by sound, in particular where he was relative to the cave entrance. He had promised to get her to Winterhold. But Deanne hadn't had much experience with strangers in her life, she was afraid to trust outright lest he decide she was too much trouble and leave.

He came back up the ramp and over to her. "I found your things," he said, then pressed a bag into her hands. Deanne took hold of it and ran her hands over the bundle, finding familiar stitching and that the ties were precisely how she'd left them. It had not been opened, either by the bandits or by her rescuer.

"How did you know it was mine?" she asked.

"…I found your hiding place under the bench and that was there. At least I assume you were hiding there."

Deanne wound her fingers into the ties. Another step back to normal. A physical tie to her life in Skingrad, before this nightmare had started. Her only tie. "Thank you."

"Look, I left my armor and such outside before…before I came in here. I've got to go get it if we're going to travel. I won't be gone long—"

Deanne jolted. He was leaving? "Will you come back?!"

She asked it too quickly and too fearfully. She knew she must have come off as desperate. Marc said it drove people off when she sounded like that. He'd usually tell her to stop acting like a child and then leave until she'd calmed down. She couldn't afford to drive this man away by being desperate, even if that was exactly what she was. _But what if he didn't come back?_

"Of course I'll come back," he assured her. Deanne's throat closed up and she pressed her lips together to avoid saying something erratic. The man knelt in front of her. "Deanne, I need my armor and weapons if I'm to do you any good out there. Besides," and he adjusted the bag slightly on her lap to draw attention to it, "while I'm gone you can change in private. What you have on now won't serve well out in the cold."

Deanne reached up self-consciously and tried to tug closed a tear that was hanging off her shoulder. Those bandits had ripped her clothing so much, it probably wouldn't serve at all without mending. And as for him retrieving his armor…

Marc had left. She'd trusted that he would return, and quickly. But now she wasn't even sure if she would see him again. Now this man was promising the same. She wanted to trust him too, but…

The man sighed. "Look, little one, why don't you change while I finish scavenging what I can around here. Then we'll go together."

Deanne looked up in near disbelief. He was going to take her with him? Just like that? Without her even asking? The woman didn't trust her voice, so she nodded jerkily.

"Alright. I'll go below. You can change your clothes up here. I swear I won't look." Deanne hugged her pack until the platform ceased to vibrate under his footsteps.

He was going to take her with him. That never happened. Her brother never wanted to be her escort anywhere. And her father hadn't wanted Deanne out unless it was necessary, and certainly not to go somewhere in the unknown. She wasn't sure how to take this. His armor might be just outside. Or only a little way away. Or it could be miles away.

But that raised another question: why would he go hunting or adventuring but leave his armor and weapon behind somewhere? No, it must be nearby. But why would he take his armor off outside at all? And how had he even gotten where and how he'd been when she'd woken?

The questions stacked up without any answers. More than wanting answers, Deanne did _not_ want to keep him waiting. She opened her pack and pulled out all the clothing that remained. It wasn't much. A few spare dresses and leggings. She'd been wearing most of her winter wear before on the cart. Regardless, she changed as fast as she could, crouching low in hopes she wouldn't tempt his gaze over toward the platform.

She did pause momentarily when she heard the plink of coins across the room. Her breath caught. What if, now that he'd found the gold, he'd go back on his word to her?

But he didn't. There was no sound of him going toward the door, just more movement of cloth and such. He wasn't leaving. Deanne sighed with relief and hurried to finish changing.

Making a note to mend her clothes, she tucked what remained of them into her bag, then stood to find the rail and leaned out. "I'm—I'm ready."

His footsteps approached and came up the ramp. "Dressed a little light for an Imperial, aren't you?"

Deanne suppressed a shiver as the cold cave air crept too quickly through the layers she'd gotten on, and tightened her grip on the rail for support. "This is all I have."

"Hm… Hang on." He went back down the ramp and over toward where he'd been making noise before. "I found a few things that might work. Can't have my charge catching her death out there." There were sounds of cloth. "And it's not like their owners will have much use for them anymore." The last sentence was spoken more quietly, but she heard it all the same. And was actually glad she couldn't see the chamber and what remained of said 'owners'.

The young woman waited for him to…do whatever he was doing, leaning on the railing and tracking him by sound. He made it easy for her.

"College of Winterhold, huh? I take it you're a mage."

"No," she replied. "Well…I learned some Restoration from the priests in Skingrad. But that was mostly so I could help them with their healings. My father knew someone at the College. He wrote to him about us coming and staying there, and his friend said 'yes'."

"Us?" the man asked.

Deanne had to swallow before answering. "Me and my brother."

The movement below stopped. "…Was he here?"

"No." And thank the Divines he hadn't been. "He…he lost his papers before we got on the cart and went back to get them. I don't know where he is now."

The movement below resumed. "Well, you were both headed for the College. I'm sure you'll meet up there."

Deanne was shocked. Why hadn't she thought about that? Probably because she hadn't thought it was possible for her to get to Winterhold on her own. She'd just gotten used to operating in a world with a very small radius. And the events of yesterday didn't help.

"What about your father?"

Deanne had to swallow again. "I don't know. He's been ill for a while. The priests tried to help but… He said he wouldn't make the journey and he didn't want us to wait for him to…" She trailed off despite her wish to be strong in his memory.

"I'm sorry, little one."

It was strange. People usually sounded different when they were expressing sympathy for her blindness versus when they were expressing sympathy for something else. But he sounded just the same. Or maybe both her blindness and the circumstances with her father were so sad that he felt just the same about both.

The man came toward the platform and Deanne turned face him when he came up the ramp. "This oughta help." He dropped a heavy bundle of fabric on the ground, then retrieved a portion of it. "Lift your hands up to the ceiling."

Deanne complied hesitantly as he shuffled with the fabric. She went tense when he took a hold of her hands, at least until he worked the cuffs of the sleeves over her wrists. The rest of the garment fell over her head and he helped her to pull it into proper place. It was large on her, especially in the shoulders and arms, but it fit alright over her other clothing alright.

"And again." She put her hands up and received another, pulling it into place like the first. "And straight out to the sides this time." He wrapped her up in a robe two sizes too big, but of heavy material. He draped a stretch of fabric around her shoulders next and then wrapped it into a hood about her head. "And one more." This one was a cloak that was draped over her shoulders and easily hit the floor around her. "There. Better?" he asked, sounding satisfied.

Deanne nodded, shifting from foot to foot. She felt twice as heavy. But, with all this heavy cloth, she might actually be. The hems fell low, dragging on the ground. Walking would be difficult. The sleeves hung past her fingertips. But it was better than freezing in the snow. Would anyone even guess there was a person under all this?

The man lifted the edge of her hood. "You in there, little one?"

Deanne didn't know if it was a joke or not. She tried to pull her uncertainties under wraps and replied, "Yes, I'm here."

"Alright then." He trotted down the ramp, collected something else from below and came back up just as quickly. "The sooner we get going, the sooner we'll get there. You ready?"

"I…I think so." She had her bag, some supplies. He had more. But, how was this going to work? She could hardly walk under all this. But the idea of him carrying her, of having his arms around her, still stirred put a tremor in her stomach.

The man reached down and picked up her bag, securing it on his back along with the other. Then he turned around and knelt down where he was, speaking to her over his shoulder. "Alright, I'm right in front of you. Just step forward, put your arms over my shoulders and lean against me."

Deanne swallowed and put her hands out. It took a couple of shuffled steps before she found him, a mountain of muscle. Were all Skyrim men this big? She leaned against him as he said until her arms were just over his shoulders, feeling a little uncomfortable with the proximity.

"Now lift your right foot and step up on my leg."

She did so, fishing a little before she found the brace on his thigh. The extra-large clothes added an extra difficulty.

And Deanne went rigid when he reached back and put his hand under her backside. Before she could think, he did the same with the other hand and stood up, taking her feet off the ground and hefting her weight more securely between his shoulder blades and atop their packs. Maybe it was good he did it with little warning, because Deanne didn't have the chance to think his actions through and start struggling to get loose. Instead, she was frozen on his back like a frightened deer, barely containing another erratic mental break at being trapped against another strange man.

He gave her a couple of seconds to process before asking, "You alright, little one?"

She wanted to say 'yes'. To be strong, not desperate, and accept the help he was offering. But she wanted so much to say 'no'. To get back on the ground and away from this stranger who could do whatever he cared to with her at any time because she was powerless by comparison! He was enormous, and she was small. She didn't have a chance of stopping him if he decided to—

Deanne trembled and did her best to contain her hysterics. She could do this. She _had_ to do this. It was her only choice, or she'd have to figure out how to survive on her own and fast. Faster than she was capable.

She held off the fear, grasping for a kind memory. Anything else to focus on than yesterday. Her father came to her. An old memory. Back when she was still small enough that her father could carry her. Back in her first days of darkness, when he would carry her about on his back, just like this.

It took some doing. But she found the clearest memory of that safety and pulled it forth. This wasn't a position of entrapment, this was one of protection. She wasn't being trapped, she was being cared for. That was why this man held her tight. That was why her father had held her tight. Not to keep her from getting away, but to keep her from falling and getting hurt or lost.

Deanne focused on connecting that past with this present and, little by little, forced the tension out of her body. Not all of it, but some. "Yes…I'm alright." She forced the queasy feeling in her stomach to the back of her mind and made an effort to breath deeply. "…Thank you."

He hadn't moved a muscle while she struggled with her mind. Now he turned, padded down the ramp and toward the whistling cave entrance. "Alright then."

Icy wind struck Deanne the instant they left the cave, sending snowflakes slicing against her cheeks and frigid tendrils of cold seeking the seams of her clothing. She dropped her head, the hood falling to guard her face, and pressed her cheek to the man's shoulder. This was the Skyrim she'd always heard about. And she was all too grateful that he'd gone out of his way to collect the extra clothes for her.

She remembered something. "There were horses…" How had she forgotten them?

Her escort paused, then cleared his throat slightly. "Must've run off." He cleared his throat again and said more directly, "Keep your hood up. And try not to choke me. We'll be to Winterhold in no time."

Deanne held onto his broad shoulders rather than throttle him about the neck, letting the long sleeves of her garments dangle to protect her fingers a bit from the icy that had whipped up since the day before. And, like that, the man bore her out into the world.

XXX

They traveled for about an hour before her escort slowed down and started to look more closely at his surroundings. He altered their route a little and the wind was soon cut by a guard of trees. Soon after he went from a jog to a walk and finally a complete stop.

"Here we are." He braced and knelt down, releasing his hands from under her so she could get off. The snow was thin under her feet, the mulch it covered cracking as she put her weight on it. He took her arm gently and urged her in a particular direction. "You can sit here while I get this stuff on." He got her to a tree trunk beneath which there was little snow and let her lower to a sit. "And you probably haven't eaten anything in a while, huh?"

"…Not really." Not since the previous day, or so. Not that she really noticed.

"Here." He dropped the packs next to her and opened one, tearing a loaf of bread apart and putting a substantial piece into her hands. "I won't be long. Then we'll get going." He paced off and there was soon a sound of metal and leather being arranged and donned.

Deanne sat where she was, fingering the bread without eating. She wasn't hungry. In truth, she didn't feel much of anything. Her mind was adrift, as well as her body: just being carried along through the world without any control over anything. She'd felt in control at home: a finite space with finite things to keep track of. But that had been a ruse as well, hadn't it? The world had been outside the door all along. Pretending it wasn't there hadn't made it go away. Pretending their little shack was all there was hadn't made the world any smaller. And now that she was out here, Deanne was completely unprepared.

She felt her eyes grow hot and the tears approach. They came even faster when she realized how easily this happened to her. Was this what she was? A helpless little blind girl who hid from the world and cried at a moment's notice? Was this what Marc always saw? Was that why he so disliked her? She couldn't blame him. Especially not now. She couldn't do _anything_.

Anyone else her age could take care of themselves. But Deanne? She was still as dependent on her father as she'd been as a child. All those years, and what had she learned about the world? About taking care of herself? How had she prepared for the day when her father would no longer be there? She hadn't! He'd taken care of her and she'd let him. Deanne had only begun going to the market alone when her father had become bedridden in the last month or so, and then only when Marc could not be with her. Was that truly the only preparation for adulthood she had made? Was that the only steps she'd taken toward any kind of self-sufficiency?

The man's footsteps crunched in the snow as he came over and sat down beside her. "You alright, little one?"

Deanne opened her mouth, but didn't know what to say and closed it again. It was clear enough now useless she was; why burden him with her own self-doubt on the matter?

"You should eat," he said, retrieving what must have been the rest of the loaf and biting into it.

Her fingers twitched and she was almost surprised to find the bread still in her hands. "I'm not hungry."

"Eat anyway."

The command in his voice was enough to make her bring the loaf to her mouth. It's taste and texture was like carded wool. But that was more her fault than the bread's. Still, she made the effort to finish it.

The man reclined back against the tree. When he spoke, it told her he was faced out toward the direction they'd come. "Winterhold's probably two days away if we push. But that's mountain trekking all the way. Not the kind of thing you want to rush. Dawnstar's closer at this point. Better if we go there first. Get a proper meal and proper rest. Then make for Winterhold. I'm not a fan of the northern coast in the summer. Especially near the icecaps. You never know when something'll break off. But should be alright if we keep up on the tundra."

Deanne didn't know what a 'tundra' or an 'icecap' was, not that she would be able to contribute anything if she did. But he seemed to know what he was talking about.

"You alright?" he asked again, his words turned toward her.

Deanne's mouth opened and closed a second time. What was she supposed to say?

"I've never been a mind reader, little one. And I'd rather know if something's amiss before we start off."

She struggled to find the words without just laying her problems on him. He had enough to deal with just transporting her as he was.

"I'm sorry I'm such a burden." Deanne wasn't even sure if he'd heard her, she'd spoken so softly. And even if it was an obvious weakness, it still proved exceptionally difficult to say and exceptionally painful to speak aloud.

But he did hear. "Not like you can help it, little one," he replied. "The blindness wasn't your doing, was it?"

She shook her head, feeling her movement muffled by both the cloth and the heated pressure of the tears she was trying to keep from escaping. Again. Gods, what was wrong with her?

"How did it happen anyway?"

"I… It was an accident. My brother took me exploring outside Skingrad. He ran ahead. I tried to catch up and I fell into a gully and hit my head. When I woke up… I didn't even know anything was wrong, except that my head hurt. I was out there all night. Father and some others came looking for me." The pressure behind her eyes increased. "After they found me, on the way home…I asked how they could see so well in the dark… I didn't even know the sun was coming up."

She reached up under her hood and wiped the tears away even as they spilled out. "Father took me to the Temple right away, but the healers said they couldn't do anything. I…I remember they said if I'd been brought in sooner…" A little shock stopped her up as she came to a realization. "I don't think Father ever forgave Marc for coming back without me."

_That_ was why they'd at odds for so long. But, coming to terms with her blindness at first, Deanne hadn't spared enough attention to notice. She'd been too wrapped up in her own problems. She'd just assumed Marc had kept out of the house for the same reason he hadn't wanted to take her along exploring: because he was adventurous and didn't want to be held up by his little sister. And then he'd left for the capital and she'd seen nothing of him for such a long time. No wonder he disliked her so much.

"Marc's your brother?"

Deanne nodded. That was why he'd stayed away from the house. Why he'd taken off for the Imperial City the first chance he got. And why he'd grown so bitter since coming home. She really _was _the cause of his unhappiness.

The man leaned back against the tree. "Can't say I'd have forgiven him either. Especially considering what came of it. But, then again, my brother and I were fairly joined at the hip as pups. Couldn't separate us if you tried."

"You have a brother?" she asked.

"A twin. Farkas." He chuckled. "We're a proper pair, we are. Skjor, one of our shield-brothers, likes to say that my brother has the strength of Ysgramor and I've his smarts."

That sounded wonderful. Two siblings, ever together, bound by blood and choice. Deanne tried not to imagine how that might feel. It actually hurt to think about what she'd missed. "Who is Ysgramor?"

The man sat up. "You've never heard of Ysgramor and the Five Hundred?"

She shook her head.

"He's a legendary hero of Skyrim." Her escort heaved himself up off the ground. "I'll tell you about him while we travel. It'll pass the time."

Deanne took the prompting and stood up while he closed the bag and put both hers and his over his shoulders. Then he turned his back to her and knelt so she could climb on again. It was a little less comfortable now that he was wearing armor, but the packs gave her some cushion and her own clothes a little insulation from the cold metal.

It wasn't until his first steps that she realized, "I never asked you your name." How could she have missed that? Especially after what he'd agreed to do for her.

There was a slight hitch in his steps as he realized the lapse in introductions as well. "I guess we had other things to think about, didn't we? It's Vilkas."

Vilkas. Even if the armor made this journey less comfortable, the proximity to him was easier than before. She knew his name now, and a little about him. The fact that he'd proven himself a person to her made this a less frightful experience. At least a little less frightful.

"And as for you being a burden," he commented.

Deanne was shocked when he took off at a sprint. She held on tight with all her limbs as he barreled through the snow. Then they were surging upward, the man finding foothold on stone instead of snow. And, just as abruptly as he'd taken off running, he jumped and they were flying. Even clinging to him as she was, Deanne felt weightless. And the wind, while no less frigid, swirled around them like a cocoon. It seemed to lift them up and hold them aloft, slowing down the seconds and giving Deanne a sense of liberation she'd never known before.

They struck the ground hard, Deanne being jammed into his armor at the abrupt halt to their flight, and everything came to a halt, the woman herself too shocked to be terrified.

He turned his head and she heard a smile as he told her, "You're hardly a burden to me."

She felt tears well up in her eyes, still coming easily to her by nature. The difference this time: these were tears of gratitude. She laid a cheek on his shoulder, overcome by his kindness.

"Thank you, Vilkas." Deanne suspected she was going to be saying that a lot between here and Winterhold.

**Auh, how nice! Leave a review and, hopefully, I'll see you all next week. Depends on how this length thing goes. Thanks for reading!**


	8. Under the Star of Dawn

**Thanks for the patience all. You know how it goes: longer chapters, more time between posts. I hope it's worth it.**

Deanne couldn't believe that Skyrim got colder. Was it really summer?

Vilkas's broad frame shielded her from most of the biting wind. Most. She kept her face pressed tight against his shoulder though, but not so tightly that she couldn't hear the wild tales of his homeland, or ask him an occasional question. He told her about Ysgramor, the first man to settle in Tamriel, right here in Skyrim. How he helped conquer it from the elves with his Five Hundred Companions and became a hero to the Nord people. Deanne wasn't sure how she felt about the 'conquering' part, if the elves had called this place home first. But he seemed important, so Deanne didn't say anything.

Vilkas told her about the land as well. How it was divided up into Holds, some of which bore the same name as their capital city, like Winterhold and Whiterun; others that had names all their own: the snowy Pale and Dawnstar, the craggy Reach and Markarth. He told her about the Throat of the World and about Dragonsreach in Whiterun. Most of the information passed into Deanne's ear and immediately out the other one, the scope of information far greater than her ability to grasp. But she liked listening to him. It made him feel less like a stranger and more like a companion to her. Maybe that was what he'd meant when he'd called himself that before. Deanne had had precious few such people in her life over the years.

And the distraction of conversation made the cold a little more bearable as well. The wind that streaked across, pressed into her back and sought her cheeks never faltered. Deanne could have sworn it was a blizzard, except that Vilkas didn't seem bothered by it at all. Although that might have been because he was Nord. She wasn't sure. She supposed he could be an Orc. They were big, too. But it didn't sound like he spoke through tusks. Did all Orcs have tusks, or just most?

Deanne shivered and tucked her chin down against his shoulder again, praying Winterhold wouldn't be any worse than this. But even if it wasn't, it was summer time. What would this place be like when winter came?

They kept a constant pace, the man never breaking a stride in spite of the fact that he carried two packs and a person. Mostly she clung to his back and tried not to hinder him. It was a long while and what felt like a constant drop in temperature before he said to her, "We're coming up on Dawnstar."

Deanne leaned forward and listened for the welcome sounds of civilization. But the wind was a near constant wall to her hearing. Something did come out of that wall, but it wasn't the sound of a city. In fact, she'd never heard anything like it.

"What is that?"

"What's what?" Vilkas asked.

"That…" Couldn't he hear it? "That crashing? Is something happening?" Was the city under attack?

He slowed down to a fast walk. "You've never been near the ocean, have you?"

The ocean. Father had told her about it before: an endless expanse of water that stretched into the distance as far as the eye could see. She couldn't imagine such a thing, but trusted her father when he said it existed.

"Does it always sound like that?"

"Aye."

The sound got louder until she could hear it easily over the wind. The crashing never ceased or paused or even slowed. Just that same rushing crash over and over again, never-ending. How did anyone sleep with that noise? And was the ocean what made the air smell so strange?

After a little while, Vilkas paused on their path. Then he turned them toward the left. "I think we can take a look before we go to the inn."

A guard hailing them as they passed was all that told Deanne they had entered the city. There wasn't any of the noise she'd expected. Not at all like Skingrad. Or maybe she just couldn't hear it over the ocean. She couldn't detect any walls, and the wind on the buildings told her they were made of wood. Was this really a city?

The texture of the ground beneath Vilkas' feet changed from hard snowy road to a sort of coarse sand as they came close to the noise of this thing called an ocean. Soon after he knelt down and let her disembark.

The sound of the endless crashing waves of water was all around, stretching out before her and as far as she could tell in either direction. The woman stood there, flabbergasted. Even just listening, it was enormous! She couldn't hear a mountain, so she had to trust others when they told her how large it was. But she could hear this. And standing here listening to it, the dark little radius of her world became so much bigger.

She took a few hesitant steps forward. The coarse sand beneath her feet shifted and she heard the rushing moving toward and away from her feet, telling her how close she was getting to the edge as it came to and fro. The sound was mesmerizing, like this great thing was breathing. The ocean drew up on itself in preparation, inhaling. Then exhaled, roaring low as it came forward, then crashing and rushing up the sand until it could rush no more, before drawing back and up onto itself again. It sounded was magnificent. And frightening. And exhilarating.

A particularly loud roar warned her of her proximity. Deanne gasped and tried to back up, not ready to actually come in contact with this enormous thing yet. But she stepped on the hem of her outer clothing which made to trip her up.

"Careful!" Almost immediately Vilkas came up behind her and lifted her straight up off the ground. She heard the wave crash forward and strike his legs right where she'd been an instant before. "You really don't want to get wet up here," he commented, taking a few steps back and setting her down again on dry sand.

Deanne couldn't help the panic that leapt up when he'd grabbed her. But she'd frozen instead of screaming or struggling, so perhaps that was an improvement. Still, she was glad when he let go. That kind of contact… It was still unwelcome, even from him.

She stood where she was for a while yet, listening. Back in Skingrad, this would have been enough for a day. She would have been content to hear this enormous thing and go home. Get more used to it before she thought about a physical encounter. But she wasn't in Skingrad anymore, was she? There wasn't anywhere to hide out here. And, if she was going to find her place in this big world…maybe being a little courageous now wouldn't be a bad place to start.

"…Could I touch it?" As strange as it seemed, Deanne felt like she had to ask permission for something like this. Maybe it was that she felt no sense of connection with this new thing while Vilkas must. Or it might be a callback to when she had depended on her father to dictate her activities.

Vilkas chuckled. "Of course. …Over here."

He put the back of his forearm under her palm, giving her something to hold onto without being held herself. Deanne couldn't get over how accommodating he was. She fished her hands out from inside her sleeves and hitched up the long hem of her outer garments. Then Vilkas led her along the bounds of the ocean's edge to a particular spot.

"There's a rock here." He helped her get up onto it, although he didn't bother himself. She inched out onto the stone. The incoming waves of water struck his legs, telling her she must be a little out into and above it.

When Deanne thought it far enough, she let go of him and knelt down on the stone, arranging her hems to keep them away from the ocean's touch. Then, as hesitantly as she'd ever been, she reached down for this enormous thing that had come into her world.

When the ocean first caught her fingertips, it was a shock. Deanne yelped and drew back quickly. "It's cold!"

Just to the other side of her, Vilkas laughed a bit more heartily than before. "It is that."

Deanne leaned back down and reached further this time. Her knees rocked a little on the stone, making her feel unsteady. But she wanted a true feel of this ocean.

The pressure of fingertips appeared on her waist and Deanne froze. "Just so you don't fall in," Vilkas assured her gently.

The woman swallowed and needed a couple of seconds to calm herself. It helped that it was just his fingertips, that his touch was very light, and that said touch was equidistant from anything she might describe as private.

"Go ahead," he urged. "I've got you." She swallowed again and turned her attention back to what she'd been seeking.

Deanne reached down and let the next wave completely envelop her hand. It was cold. Very cold! But she didn't draw away this time. She reached further, feeling Vilkas's fingertips more firmly as he kept her steady. This time she got the whole wave, from the crash in toward the shore, to the water being drawn back out toward the expanse, sucking her hand along with it, then pushing it back toward shore.

Deanne's sleeve fell down her arm before the next and got most of the following wave. She pulled back just long enough to roll the sodden fabric before reaching back down, not finished with this new experience.

Wave after wave rushed against her hand, colder than ice. It had a strange texture. And one touch to her lips gave her a taste of salt. Father had said that, but she hadn't thought it would be so strong. And all the while, Deanne couldn't help but smile like a fool.

It wasn't until her whole hand was numb and her knees had started to ache that she thought she ought to stop. She was taking up an awful lot of time with this.

"You done?" he asked casually when she sat back and started to get to her feet.

Deanne nodded._ 'At least for now._' He helped her get back along the stone and onto the coarse sand, away from the ocean's edge. "Thank you, Vilkas." She really was going to be saying that often to him.

"My pleasure, little one. The inn's back up the road." With that, he began to kneel down so she could climb on his back again.

But Deanne hesitated. "Is it very far?" she asked.

"Not very. The town's not so big."

"Could I walk then?" He'd carried her so far already. And, as long as they were near their destination for the day, she'd like to use her legs a little.

"Of course," was the reply. He stood up and Deanne found his forearm under her palm when she reached out.

With Vilkas to guide her, Deanne walked all the way up to the inn. He'd been right about not wanting to get wet. The ground beneath her feet soon chilled her all the way through her boots and stockings. If she'd gotten her boots wet it would have been far worse. The woman felt a lance of regret that she had come up to this cold place rather than stay in fair Skingrad, even if her father had thought was best for her.

A clamor of voices told Deanne they were approaching the inn. And, coming up the wooden steps, she made out that they were all loud, angry, demanding and aggressive. It gave her pause. And she wasn't the only one.

Vilkas placed himself between her and the door. "Hold a moment." He listened to the commotion occurring inside, then cracked the door and let the angry voices spill out with a gust of warm air. Even if the warmth was more than welcome, Deanne was worried enough about what was going on inside that she was hesitant to enter. They listened for a moment, Deanne herself picking out little from the hubbub.

Vilkas didn't seem to hear any more than she did. "Can't tell what's going on. But I don't think it's endangering." He turned to her. "Ready?"

She still hesitated. Father had warned her about inns and taverns. They housed all sorts, good and bad. They'd both decided she was better off at home than chancing a bad encounter or getting lost in the crowds. Her recent experience with groups of strangers and the sounds coming from inside this building did nothing to ease her concerns. But were they supposed to sleep outside tonight? Ultimately, she nodded.

"Alright. Just stay close to me." He drew the forearm she held closer to himself, and Deanne took it with both hands and edged nearer as he opened the door and they walked in.

Vilkas kept them to one side of the inn, and himself between her and most of those participating in this commotion. But that didn't mean Deanne didn't make out words from a dozen different voices.

"It's a curse, I tell you! It's got to be. The sooner we all get out of this town the better," someone yelled.

"Irgnir, get a hold of yourself. They're just dreams," an older woman insisted.

"But the same dream, over and over again. You think that's normal? It's evil I tell you!"

"She's got a point."

"What's the Jarl doing about this? Hasn't he got a court mage? Isn't this her job?"

"Brina, isn't there something _you_ can do?"

"What about that priest? What's he doing here?"

"Everyone, please—"

"He's here because this is an omen. What else could it be?"

"Everyone please calm down. Shouting does no good."

"But there's got to be something that can be done. No one's gotten a good night's rest in weeks!"

"QUUUIIIIIIIIIIIIIIET!" One deep toned bellow nearly blew the roof off the building and brought everything and everyone to a halt. Deanne instinctively tucked herself against Vilkas's side for safety.

"Thank you, Horik," a business-like woman said. Then she raised her voice to speak to the entire assembly. "Now then, I understand that tensions are high. I know that everyone is suffering. But succumbing to fear and anger will only worsen the situation for all of us. There is a priest of Mara here among us. And, if you will give him chance, he will share his guidance with us." Just like that, this one woman had control of the entire group. What had been a hysterical mob stirred beyond reason now listened to her in utter silence."If you would, Erandur."

"Thank you," a man said. "Now I can assure you, these dreams are merely that. No harm will follow them. I am doing what I can to bring an end to your hardship. I have seen the miracles of Lady Mara. It was she who saved me from such nightmares and she protect me even now. All I ask is that you remain strong and put your trust in her, as I do."

"There." The business-like woman pronounced the conclusion of the meeting with that single word. "From the mouth of a priest of Mara. Now go about your business. We've wasted enough energy on this tonight."

During the whole of the proceedings, Vilkas had gotten both of them across the inn without anyone taking any particular notice of them. With a jerk of his elbow, he urged her to stop. Then his knuckles rapped on a wooden counter immediately before them, calling the attention of whoever was behind it.

"We need lodging for the night."

"We've got one available for ten gold," replied the man being addressed. He sounded tired and worn, but made an effort to be pleasant.

"We need separate rooms," Vilkas clarified.

"Sorry. Only have the one. Lot of folk trying to get proper rest in town. We've been nearly full up for a week."

Vilkas paused, considering. "The one then." He reached into a pouch on his belt and pulled out a handful of coins.

The man behind the counter took the money. "I'll show you to the room, then." Deanne held onto Vilkas and kept close as he followed after their host.

"No need to worry about all that," their host assured them. "Just something going around Dawnstar. Nightmares. Been keeping everyone awake and ruining what sleep we do get. They don't seem to affect passersby, so you should be fine. But my advice would be to come and go as quick as you can."

"That's the plan," Vilkas replied.

"Here we are." Even with Vilkas angling to accommodate, Deanne's shoulder still brushed the doorframe as they entered their room. "It's yours for a day. Please let me know if there's anything else I can get for you."

"Some hot food would be nice."

"We've got venison stew cooking."

"That's fine."

The host left with no more asked of him. Deanne stayed where she was, unsure how she was supposed to treat this new environment. One room for the two of them? She didn't suppose there were two beds.

"No door," Vilkas remarked. "One bed. I'll take the floor."

Deanne relaxed a little. Truth be told, that was the arrangement she had been hoping for. She just hadn't wanted to say it aloud and risk offending him. Did that make her a bad person?

Vilkas shrugged the packs off his other shoulder and dropped the arm that she held, prompting her to let go. "Bed's right in front of you." He stepped away to busy himself with their things, which gave Deanne a chance to settle herself in her own way.

She took small steps forward with hands outstretched until she found the foot of the bedframe. She ran her hands along it, investigating the dimensions. She found the corner and the wall it was set against, then moved around to the open side. There was a table beside the bed. Brushing her fingers across the surface she discovered assorted items: some dried flowers that smelled of lavender when she crushed a bud between her fingers, a book she wouldn't be reading, and a candlestick. Ghosting her hand over the top, she discovered the candle was lit and left it alone. She wouldn't needed the light, but Vilkas might.

Deanne kept going, moving along the wall until she found the corner of the room. On she went along the third wall until she stubbed her toe on a chair. More investigation found it set against a small table with a second chair placed to mirror the first. She went on. The next corner and the fourth wall, the doorframe, the first wall and finally the bed again. One full circle. It wasn't a large room. But her father's had been smaller. Enough for the two of them tonight, she supposed.

Vilkas hadn't said a word while Deanne completed her walk around. He'd spent the time going through his bag and not paying her much attention. Maybe on purpose.

"Will you be alright not sleeping on the bed?" she asked, feeling a little guilty at the preferential treatment. It was just a lumpy mattress and a layer of furs, but the floor had to be less comfortable.

"The floor's fine. I've slept on worse," he remarked. He flicked a roll of padded fabric out now that she was done circling the space and then stood up. "I'll go get us that stew. Be right back." He waited until she nodded her understanding and then left through the door.

Deanne set her fingers to the clasp of the cloak Vilkas has put around her back at the cave. It was much warmer in here than it had been outside. She didn't need all the layers. The stretch of fabric about her head and the two oversized dresses came off as well. She laid them all over the corner post of the bed before sitting down to wait for his return, all the while listening to the goings on outside the room.

People weren't very merry. Voices were fearful and agitated. Even a bard, when she tried to raise their spirits, came off as weary despite her attempt to liven the room. Deanne still listened intently to the song, Ragnar the Red, as it was performed.

Bards. Vilkas had mentioned this as they'd traveled. Skyrim's history, heroes, and myths, all told through poetry and song. Cyrodiil had minstrels, although they were few and far between. Most of those were employed in the courts of the nobility anyway. A few traveled around performing at inns and taverns. Deanne only heard about them after they'd moved on. And she'd never been up to Castle Skingrad.

In Cyrodiil, most history and stories were written down, which did Deanne little good. But here in Skyrim, she could listen to it instead. Her first impression of Skyrim's bards wasn't exactly glowing. The performer was tired and the material was...violent. After Vilkas's talk of Ysgramor and this bloody ballad, she wondered if all Skyrim's legends and songs were about killing people.

Vilkas returned shortly. "Got the stew and a visitor," Vilkas said first off, giving her fair warning. "Erandur, a priest of Mara."

"Hello, my daughter," came the newcomer's greeting. She recognized his voice: the one who'd been reassuring the people about the nightmares earlier.

"Hello," she said kindly, nodding toward the door-frame as the second set of footsteps passed through it. Of all the visitors that could have come, this one she was naturally comfortable with. Deanne had grown up around priests and priestesses, often staying in the Temple when her father had been working. But the question now: why was this priest here? Was he going to warn them about the nightmares, too?

Vilkas provided the answer as he set two bowls down on the table. "I thought he could take a look at your eyes. Since he's here anyway."

Deanne's heart was softened by the gesture. And saddened. "I don't mind. But…others have. There's nothing that can be done."

"Yeah, well… I just want to make sure."

Deanne couldn't help but smile warmly. He really was a good man. And she was very lucky that he had been the one to find her.

The priest took steps toward her. "If it is within my power to help you, I will make the attempt."

Deanne nodded. But she didn't get her hopes up. Father took her to the Temple every time a new priest appeared or a new healing spell was introduced. And not one had been able to heal her. After a while she'd accepted that darkness would be her lot in life.

"Just watch your distance there, priest. She's been through enough."

"I understand."

The priest took a seat beside her at a respectful distance and Deanne turned her face toward him, keeping her eyes level and open as every other priest had asked. He put his hands to her cheeks and angled her face upward a little, doubtless surveying what damage could be seen.

Deanne let herself be scrutinized, like all the times before. Then she felt magicka build in his hands and flow into her skin where he touched her. The first few times she'd felt this, Deanne had been so hopeful that the dark would lift and that this rush of healing would return the world of light and colors back to her. But it never did. The pain of disappointment afterward had warned her against such hopefulness.

After a few minutes of trying, the priest let his hands dropped and admitted, "There is nothing I can do. I am sorry, but the damage appears to be permanent."

Deanne refused to let those words hurt her again. "I know. But thank you for trying." She turned her head toward her companion. "And thank _you_, Vilkas. For trying." She made an effort to smile. There was no point in dwelling on what couldn't be changed. Her attempt to shrug off the disappointing result didn't stop the uncomfortable pause though.

It was Vilkas who finally broke it. "Well…Thanks anyway, priest. I guess you can go back to…whatever you're doing here."

"Actually, might I make a request of you?"

"Seems fair. You coming in here and all."

The priest hesitated. "This request would be better spoken of outside."

Vilkas paused momentarily. She could almost hear suspicion settle in him. "Come and eat, Deanne. Food's on the table."

She rose as bidden and went toward him and the table as she recalled its position. Vilkas's hand cupped under her elbow when she got close, the man adjusting her course by a few inches so she found the chair first.

The smell of the stew wafted into her senses and Deanne's appetite came awake with a vengeance. It smelled delicious. How long has it been since she'd had a proper meal? Her stomach knew and made its demand, almost embarrassingly loud.

The woman sat down and swept her hand out in front of her, finding the spoon and the bowl. It was a miracle she didn't begin shoveling the stew into her mouth that instant. But she didn't want to shame herself, or Vilkas, in front of the priest. That bit of pride kept her table manners intact. The first taste of the stew nearly brought tears to her eyes. Meat and potatoes, so rich and hot it was almost overwhelming. _Oh Gods!_ Her mind turned solely to it's consumption. Meanwhile, the men talked.

Vilkas dropped himself heavily into the seat across from her and pulled his own bowl toward him. "It's been a long day, priest. You want to ask anything? You can ask it right here."

"I understand," the priest replied. "But this request would benefit from some discretion."

Vilkas replied resolutely, "If you can't ask it in decent company, then maybe it isn't something you should ask at all."

The priest hurried to explain himself. "I am trying to help these people. They are in serious danger. But if anyone overhears what I say…it could start a panic."

"Serious danger?" Vilkas asked. "I thought I heard you say there was nothing to worry about."

"…Yes, I did say that." He took a breath and seemed to steel himself. "Please. I believe I can help. But not alone. I need the assistance of one such as yourself. And I would prefer not to frighten anyone while I explain."

"Why not go to the Jarl or someone who is actually affected by all this? Dawnstar can't be that lacking in warriors."

The priest sighed, then said sadly, "These people are worn by what is happening to them. Weakened by too many restless nights… Even if any of them had the strength, they would either be too frightened by the prospect of what is occurring, or not believe me at all."

"But you thought I looked like a better bet," Vilkas accused.

"You appear to be a hardened warrior, yes. And I do not know if I will be able to find another before the damage here becomes permanent. I had to take the chance." The furs whispered and the bedframe creaked as he likely sat forward to press his point. "Please. I ask that you trust me, if only enough to hear me out."

Vilkas didn't respond immediately. He sat still long enough that Deanne wondered if he would speak at all. Then he lifted his bowl from the table, tipped what remained of the contents into his mouth and set it down definitively. "Fine then. Talk."

"Thank you. But please, I'd still prefer to take this somewhere less…crowded." the priest repeated. "I do not wish to cause any alarm to the townsfolk. Or your companion."

There was another long, suspicious pause.

"Think you'll be alright here for a bit, Deanne?" Vilkas finally asked softly.

She lowered her spoon and nodded in his direction. The truth was, Deanne hadn't expected this conversation to remain in her vicinity for long. Important conversations didn't tend to happen around her. It was just something she'd gotten used to over the years. And, while she was more than a bit apprehensive of being on her own, this room was a better environment than most for it to happen in. Even if the one person she was even remotely familiar with was not present, there were others within shouting distance if she truly needed anything.

Vilkas stood up. "I won't be gone long."

He must have made some meaningful gesture at the priest, because the other man quickly agreed, "No, not long at all."

By the way he assured her, Vilkas seemed genuinely concerned with how she would handle being alone. "I'll be alright," she said, imparting some assurance of her own to him.

The two men proceeded to leave the room. She tried not to wonder about what they were going to be talking about. Something to do with the nightmares that everyone here was suffering from, and frightening enough that he approached a stranger rather than anyone in the town.

It was better she not think about it. If anyone in the town would be frightened by what was happening, she certainly would be terrified. So the woman finished her stew and waited patiently for Vilkas' return, passing the time by listening to the people outside the room.

It was disquieting. After several minutes, Deanne had not heard a joke or a laugh or anything lighthearted from the people of the inn. Everyone, without exception, was melancholy or irritable. And anyone she heard speaking sounded exhausted. Someone had said this had been going on for weeks? She believed it. Deanne felt for these people. And she hoped that the priest really did have a way to help them.

It wasn't long at all before her companion returned. Vilkas entered the room and the first thing he said was, "We should probably get some sleep. Gotta get an early start tomorrow."

That wasn't what she'd been expecting at all. "What about the priest of Mara?"

"What about him?" Vilkas asked, walking over to shift his pack against the wall.

"He asked for your help with something, didn't he?"

"He did."

"So? Are you going to help him?"

The answer was terse and dispassionate. "No."

Deanne was taken aback by the quality of the response. "Why not?"

"Because I'm helping you," he stated. "I promised to get you to Winterhold. I'm not going to drop you in the middle of that to help any mer or man who asks for something."

"Oh." That did make sense…she supposed. And Deanne did appreciate that he had no intention of abandoning her. But the priest Erandur had sounded genuine when he'd said that he could help these people. And when he said he could not do it without help. Without Vilkas's help.

Vilkas left the room briefly with the bowls and she dimly heard him pass them off to the proprietor before returning. "Come on, little one. It's been a long day. Time to get some sleep."

He came over to stand near her as a prompting, but let Deanne get up and find her way over to the bed without his assistance. A small but much needed victory for her. Still, the priest's request continued to bother her.

"Could you help them if you wanted to?" she asked as she placed herself under the furs.

Vilkas waited until she was settled before dropping to the floor and getting into his bedroll. "I don't know. Probably. The priest sure thought so." He brushed to topic aside. "Go to sleep, little one. I told you: we need to get an early start."

Deanne fell silent and curled up under the covering. She shouldn't be worrying about what was going on here. She didn't know these people. And the priest would find someone else if he really needed to. Vilkas and Deanne were going to Winterhold tomorrow. The College was still a long way away. She should be more focused on that.

She was in the process of drifting off when a voice became distinct outside the room.

"Mead, Thoring!"

The demand was made loudly and only a few feet beyond their door.

"I think you've had enough for one night, Karl," the inn's proprietor replied, making less of an effort to hide his exhaustion with someone he obviously knew. "Go home. Get some rest."

"That's what I'm tryin' to do. So gimme the damned mead."

The proprietor sighed heavily. "Don't do this tonight, Karl."

Deane sat up quickly in the bed as a load landed hard against the counter. "You gimme that mead or I'll take it out of your hide!"

There was a brief sound of struggle and a loud grunt before a table was upset, scattering tankards and shattering dishes. Vilkas was on his feet in a minute and went straight to the door. Deanne was frightened he might dive out into the fight, but he stayed in the doorway. And it was a good thing he did.

Ceramics were ground beneath the twisting bodies as the two men grappled. Chairs were scooted or upheaved by them and by others trying to get out of the way. Some tried to separate the brawlers, yelling angrily. There were several outcries of pain, followed by even louder curses. The sounds of fighting grew, people who had previously tried to stop the fighting now taking part. More tables were toppled, wood was broken with sounds of heated exertion, blows were dealt with objects of metal.

Deanne sat rigid, her hands fisted in the furs. She jumped when the sound of an impact came against the wall their room shared with the main one. This was one of the things that quelled Deanne's interest in taverns and inns. Father made it sound like people got in fights all the time in these places. And fear of being caught up in one kept Deanne out of greater gathering places, even when the opportunities arose. She didn't know how to fight. Didn't want to know how to fight. But that didn't help to quiet the chaos now raging outside their room.

Thank the Divines for Vilkas. His presence in the doorway was all that kept her from crawling under the bed to hide. He remained at the doorway, turning away anyone who happened to stumble or lunge in that direction, keeping the danger away from her until the entrance to the inn was thrown open and multiple sets of armor waded into the fighting. Deanne's heart stayed in her throat through the whole affair, all the way until the last of the participants had been broken up and two people were dragged out of the building cursing and yelling.

Her escort stayed where he was until everything had settled down. Only then did he turn back and assure her, "Just a little fight. All over now."

She nodded, if hesitantly. She'd never been this close to a fight of any kind. Except yesterday, perhaps. But that was less a fight and more a massacre.

"Don't worry, little one. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you. Go to sleep. I'll stay up for a while."

Deanne lowered her head back down onto the pillow. Vilkas drew his sword and walked over to the table where they had eaten. He sat down and began running a cloth along the length of his blade, both to pass the time and keep it at the ready for any happenings.

'Just a little fight.' That hadn't sounded little. And it had started so abruptly. Over a mead? Perhaps this was normal tavern behavior. Or perhaps it was more evidence of their hardship.

Deanne took a breath to ask about what the priest of Mara had said to Vilkas outside, but stopped herself.

Vilkas was taking her to Winterhold. He'd said so. He'd refused to help the priest Erandur on the grounds that he was already helping her. He was standing by her, even in the face of these people's plight. Maybe she should let him. After all, what if the assistance that Erandur needed was something dangerous? What if something happened to Vilkas? What would happen to Deanne without him?

She felt for these people. She really did. But…she needed Vilkas in order to get to Winterhold. And he had already made the decision to stay with her. Something that her brother had said occurred to her: she needed to start looking to herself. Perhaps she would need to be a little selfish if she was going to make it out here on her own. Things were working out for her: she had someone who was helping her and only her. Certainly that should be enough.

Deanne closed her eyes and tried to will her mind to sleep. The sound of Vilkas cleaning his blade filled her ears and she let it drown out the troubled murmuring outside the door. The sound of cloth on the blade instilled in her, not a fear of the weapon or its wielder, but a sense of security. And it was that security which finally allowed her to fall into slumber.

XXX

She must have slept for a few hours, long enough for most everyone in the inn to depart or retire. It was quiet. There were no sounds of people eating or drinking or sitting at table. No hushed attempts at conversation in spite of exhaustion. But quiet was not silent.

Through the wooden walls of the inn, she heard someone stir. There was a subtle movement of bed dressing as the person in the room next to theirs' shifted in their sleep. They moaned pitifully and moved again, trying but unable to find a position that permitted them peace of rest. In the room further down, another sleeper was more vocal. They groaned loudly and then became quiet. Less than a minute later, they wailed again as though in pain.

Beyond the sounds of these two were others: someone whimpering, almost perpetually, like a frightened child. Someone else mumbling feverishly. These sounds of suffering, subtle at first waking, were now almost impossible for Deanne to shut out.

One of the sleepers thrashed and then grunted loudly as they came awake. Deanne held her breath and listened. He sighed heavily, like a man burdened and defeated. She heard him stand up and leave his room. His steps were shuffled. Then there was a pause. A moment later she heard him take a few more steps and sigh his way down into a chair. After another moment, the whimpering stopped abruptly as another woke.

"Shhh. It's just me," said the man that Deanne now identified as the inn's proprietor.

A young woman sighed and dropped back onto a bedframe. "I dreamt of mother." The words were spoken very softly and across the inn, but Deanne could still hear them.

"I know," the man replied. "So did I."

Deanne felt a pain in her heart as she listened to them. She listened until the man began humming a lullaby and the young woman, who must have been his daughter, dozed off again. She listened until the man followed and the shifting and whimpering resumed. Diminished. But still present.

She couldn't do it.

The blind woman turned over in the direction of her escort. "Vilkas?" she whispered. There was no response. "_Vilkas_?" she whispered a bit more loudly, wondering if she would have the nerve to truly attempt to wake him for this.

He had good hearing. Or perhaps he was a light sleeper. After a sharp inhale and a vocalized exhalation he rolled over and realized she'd spoken. "Can't sleep?"

She shook her head.

Vilkas sat up slightly. "Bad dreams?"

Deanne fiddled with one of the furs. "Not mine." As her voice fell off, the sounds of the sleepers entered her ears again. She wondered if he could hear them as well as she could. "Vilkas?"

"Mmm." He sounded ready to get back to sleep.

"I…" Deanne steeled herself and tried to put some decisiveness into her voice. "I want you to help these people."

He sighed as the previous decision was brought back to the table. "I told you, little one, I'm not doing anything until I'm done with you. Winterhold's not so far off. I can come back after, if it would make you feel better."

"I know but…"

"No 'buts'. Go back to sleep."

Maybe a few weeks ago, she would have obeyed. But being out here, in the real world, it changed things. She was just one person in this enormous place that stretched out further than she could imagine. She was fundamentally insignificant. And weighing her well-being against that of an entire town? It didn't seem right to monopolize the time of someone who could be doing good for more people. It wasn't right of her.

"Vilkas. Please." He didn't make a sound, but his breathing pattern told her he wasn't asleep just yet. Deanne sat up and wrapped her arms around her knees. She did need him. But so did these people. "Back in Skingrad, if the priests did too much without getting rest, they would act different. They would yell more or get really quiet. But you could always tell they were unhappy."

The sounds of the sleepers seemed to weigh against her ears. "I can hear them. These people have been through weeks like this. What if they don't have a few days for you to come back? They already started a fight over nothing. Someone could get really hurt. I can wait a little while to get to Winterhold." What had Vilkas said before? "You're a companion. This is what you do, isn't it?"

She waited, hoping he would understand what she was trying to say. It hadn't really come out very well, had it? At least not exactly as she'd meant it to. Certainly not as persuasive as she'd meant.

Vilkas didn't say a word and Deanne sighed. She felt strongly about this, she just…didn't know how to express it. How to convince him—anyone, really. These people needed help. Deanne couldn't do anything, but Vilkas could. So it was right for him to do it. Or rather, it was wrong for Deanne to keep him to herself.

But Vilkas didn't say a word.

Deanne didn't know if she had the will or the eloquence to try another argument. Thank the Divines she didn't have to.

"Alright. I'll talk to the priest in the morning." He shifted in his bedroll. "But only if you're sure about this."

Deanne nodded. "I am. It's the right thing."

He sighed and flopped back onto the ground, like he already regretted agreeing to her request. Deanne lay back down as well and the voices of the fatigued less of a weight on her mind. That lessened weight only made room for a new concern: that for Vilkas and herself if this task proved to be dangerous. But she found comfort in the fact that this might result in the people of Dawnstar being freed of their nightmares. And that comfort allowed her sleep again.

**So, how do you think things are going? Let me know. I'll keep on the writing front.**


	9. The Chill of the Pale

**I feel so very silly right now. I wrote this chapter a while ago, had it betaed and uploaded it to my profile...but did not post it to the story! Ack! It's just been sitting there. Sooooo silly!**

**So, yeah, here you go. And, thanks to this little slipup, you get two chapters in one dose. Yay! Enjoy.**

The day felt longer than it should have, sitting and waiting for Vilkas's return. He'd secured her stay with the inn's proprietor this morning and then gone to speak with the priest, just like he'd said he would. Then the two of them had left to do whatever it was the priest had said would cast off Dawnstar's nightmares and Deanne had set in to wait.

She didn't mind. Waiting was not new to her and she had long ago developed the patience for it. Deanne passed the time listening to the sounds of the inn, recalling fond memories, reviewing the salves and potions she'd been taught in the Temple, knitting. Anything to keep her mind and hands busy. The knitting was most helpful. The motions of the needles let her mind drift more naturally than if she were just sitting still.

What were Vilkas and the priest doing? What was causing the nightmares here in Dawnstar? How were they going to fix it? Where was Marc right now? Was he alright? Was he making his way to Winterhold even as she sat here? And what about Tolfdir, her father's friend and mentor? What was he like? Would he welcome her with open arms? Would she be expected to work for her keep? What was the College like? What would it be like to live amongst mages and students of the arcane arts?

This wasn't a time when she was particularly in need of answers. The questions and the needles were meant to occupy her mind and her hands while time passed. And they did.

It had to be into the afternoon when Vilkas returned. The inn was still mostly empty and the evening crowd of people had yet to begin congregating. Deanne had perked her ears with every entrance throughout the day, waiting in expectation for his return. This time, a heavy set of strides passed directly to her door and the greeting was from his familiar voice.

"I'm back."

Deanne let out a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding. Her worry for him had been for nothing.

"Are you alright? Did everything work out?"

Vilkas hesitated, entering the room a few steps without speaking first, and then answering toward a wall as if avoiding eye contact with her. "I'm fine. But as for the other? …No, things didn't work out."

Deanne's face fell. "What happened?" She'd just assumed they would succeed. A devout priest of Mara and a warrior like Vilkas? Even without knowing what they faced, it hadn't occurred to her that he would come back without achieving their goal.

"Nothing. We just hit an obstacle that we couldn't get past. But we tried. Nothing more to be done now." He completed his journey to the pack he'd left against the wall that morning. "If you're ready, I think we should head out. There's still light in the sky. We should use that to get some distance. It'll make tomorrow easier. Won't have to rush on the tundra."

He moved so fluidly from today's quest into planning for the remainder of their journey to Winterhold. It seemed an acceptable plan. But Deanne didn't move.

That was it? All that fretting last night about letting him help the townsfolk over her, and it was all for naught? They were still going to have nightmares. Still suffer exhaustion and insomnia, and fall prey to the effects thereof. Deanne had just assumed that they would leave this place better than when they'd found it…

She sighed. It was beyond her ability to either assist or deter at this point. Especially now that the attempt had been made. What else could she ask of her escort beyond what he had already done and promised her?

"Where is the priest of Mara?" she asked offhand.

Vilkas remained down by his pack, arranging things, as he responded. "He stayed up there. Thought he could come up with a way through."

"And you're not going to wait in case he does?"

"No. If it were a quick fix, maybe. But there's no telling how long it will take for him to figure it out. And, anyway, it looked pretty cut and dry to me. And I don't do magic. I couldn't help, and I couldn't wait around. So I came back." He shifted to speak in her direction. "What do you need to do before we leave?"

"Just pack this," she said, lifting the needles. "And put those on, I guess." And she lifted her hand in the direction of her oversized coverings that were still laid over the corner of the bed. She'd kept her pack against the side of her chair, ready for whenever Vilkas returned. Although she'd expected their departure to be under better circumstances. "What was the obstacle?"

Vilkas stood up with an uncomfortable grunt. "Nothing you need to concern yourself with. You wanted me to help. I tried. But there's nothing anyone can do now." He went over and she heard him pick up her over-clothes and bring them to the table. "Now we get you to Winterhold."

That sounded like the end of the conversation. Deanne wrapped up her knitting and tucked it into her bag. Then she stood to wrap up warm for their journey.

They were leaving this town in a terrible fate, and that still troubled her. Especially after hearing the father and daughter from the night before. One small exchange and Deanne felt an undeniable connection with these people. Then she felt guilty that they were suffering while she was not. And then guiltier still because she couldn't do anything to help. Guilt that came without any regard to her disabilities.

Her melancholy wasn't something she could hide either.

From where he was closing up their packs, Vilkas offered, "We'll say something to the mages when we get to the College. Maybe they'll send help."

That made her feel a little better. The mages at the College would know what to do. It didn't help with her feelings of uselessness, though.

Deanne sighed as she tugged the robe over her shoulders and thought back to her and Vilkas's first conversation about all this, before she'd woken up and asked him to reconsider his initial decision. She needed to start looking out for herself. She needed to learn to be selfish. Maybe that quality came naturally to some. But for Deanne, who had been practicing selflessness her whole life, egotism required a conscious effort. Too many years striving for any little way to give back to those people who did so much for her. Selfishness was something she would actually have to learn.

Once she was done dressing, Vilkas led her out of the inn. On the porch, he helped her to climb onto his back again and they started off. It was just a matter of getting from Dawnstar to Winterhold now, over the 'tundra'. Deanne still didn't know what that was. But she wasn't of a mind to ask. The troubles they were leaving behind were rooted into her thoughts and refused to leave her be.

She didn't bring it up to Vilkas. He had made an effort to assist and nothing had come of it. What else did she expect him to do? She had thought: _she_ couldn't help Dawnstar and that Vilkas could, therefore he should. Because it was right. Now neither of them could help Dawnstar. Wasn't it right to let Vilkas help _her _now? He could do good for her, so he should. It made sense. And why trouble him with her thoughts on a dead end path?

Vilkas began jogging up an increasingly steep incline. After a while she could only imagine he was climbing a mountain. Not that she could tell aught else. Perhaps the wind picked up a little. But her body was already fairly numb from the cold, and it got worse as they went on. Although whether that was from the higher elevation or the dropping Magus, she didn't know.

"Something wrong, little one?"

The question out of the blur of blustering snow was unexpected. "Mm-mm," she responded, shaking her head against his back. She was lying, of course. But telling him about her concerns would help no one.

They kept going for a few minutes. "It's not nothing. You're tense. What is it?"

Could he feel that just from how she hung onto him? Deanne was surprised he was paying such close attention. "It's nothing," she assured him. He couldn't do anything for Dawnstar. She couldn't do anything for Dawnstar. Why let both of them dwell on it?

Several more minutes passed. "You're thinking about Dawnstar, aren't you? About those nightmares."

Deanne took a breath to deny it but, on second thought, didn't see the point now that he'd guessed her mind precisely. "Yes." Maybe she should have said it was the cold that was bothering her in the first place, just to ease him. There would have been some truth to that.

He exhaled in frustration. "Neither of us could do anything. You shouldn't keep focusing on it."

Hadn't that been her thoughts exactly?

"I know. But it doesn't help."

She lay her head down at the base of his neck, just above his cuirass. She could feel the tail ends of his hair brush over her hood as he moved. Maybe if she'd tried to learn some magic over the last several years, then she might have been able to do something other than send Vilkas to try his luck.

They kept going. It got colder. Deanne worked her hands further inside her sleeves and tucked her chin under the collar of her robe and cloak for warmth. Only a little after that, Vilkas slowed their climb and ducked into a pocket of space sheltered from the wind and set her down. There was only a thin layer of snow on the ground and the wind was broken by a stone wall that mostly encircled them. Hopefully enough to allow her to sleep.

The cold on the other hand? Even through her garments, Deanne could feel the chill setting in. She wasn't sure if she could actually fall asleep in this temperature.

Vilkas cleared an area of ground and unrolled his sleeping pallet, then urged her to sit down on it. But even after she had done so and wrapped the edges of her robe and cloak around her as much as possible, the cold stayed as closely encircling as it had out in the wind. Deanne shivered and tried not to wish for the walls and hearths of the inn.

Vilkas noticed her shivering and made a sound of displeasure before saying, "Sorry, little one. There's nothing better around here."

Deanne nodded, a gesture barely discernible from her shaking.

He walked out of their shelter and she heard him tearing at branches. A short time late he dragged them inside and managed to get a small fire burning in front of them. As much as Deanne was desperate for the warmth, there was enough space between her and the flame that the cold remained predominant. Perhaps it would warm the space over time. Perhaps it would help her to sleep.

Vilkas sat down next to her but not so close as to touch. "I'd…uh…" The man cleared his throat. He sounded terribly awkward. "I'd offer to warm you, but…I'm guessing you wouldn't be too comfortable with that."

The hands of the bandits came back to her far too quickly and Deanne shook her head vigorously, glad that the cloak and cloth about her head masked the flash of pure terror that had swept across her face. Vilkas had done so much for her. But that didn't mean she was comfortable enough with him for such contact. No, she'd rather be kept awake all night than let him—anyone—be against her like that.

Vilkas opened his pack and put some food into her hands: a half loaf of bread and a wedge of cheese. Deanne ended up tugging them inside a couple her outer garments and eating within the thin layer of warmth trapped within.

After that, it was difficult to think of anything but the cold. She squirmed a little closer to the fire until she could just feel the heat wafting over her face. But it did little for her. She finally decided that being inside the bedroll might well be better. Vilkas caught on to her attempts and helped her wrap up as much as possible in the material while he himself remained seated at her side. Deanne finished by pulling her arms inside, not just her robe, but the two oversized dresses as well. The further insulation helped some.

But her feet would not be warmed. No matter how she tried to arrange herself or how well she tried to work feeling back into them, they remained terribly numb which was equally terribly uncomfortable.

But she still couldn't bring herself to move closer to Vilkas. Being on his back was one thing. Having him up against hers in this sort of setting was quite another. And more terrifying to her than freezing to death. So Deanne just tried to block out as much of the cold as possible and get a little rest.

Perhaps she slept. Perhaps not. The next minute she came aware, the bedroll on top of her was more taut. Perhaps Vilkas had moved. And there was no warmth from outside the bedroll. Had the fire gone out? She wasn't even sure if she would be able to hear it from in here.

Deanne tried to shift and get to some semblance of sleep.

Which proved impossible. The ground beneath her, the stone at her back and the frigid air around her leached through her layers and sucked at her body warmth. She couldn't feel her feet anymore. Her mind was so cold it couldn't fathom sleep. It was a struggle just to lie still.

Vilkas didn't seem to have a problem. He hadn't made a sound or movement. He must be a Nord. They didn't get cold.

It felt like hours passed of Deanne trying and failing to achieve enough warmth to fall asleep. Then, tucked inside her garments and the bedroll, Deanne jumped when Vilkas growled in frustration and stood up abruptly.

"Deanne—" He halted and growled again.

She'd woken him up, hadn't she?

Deanne worked her head out of the collar of both robe and cloak. "Sorry… I just c-can't get warm."

"No, that's not—" Vilkas cut himself off and growled again. His feet shuffled in the snow in a tangle of pacing. He halted and hissed angrily. Then he turned on her. "You're freezing. I'm need to get you inside."

"I-Inside w-where?"

"It's—not—far." He said it haltingly, as if he didn't like having to admit it. Vilkas grumbled. "I can see it from here…" There was a long pause, and then he growled again. Although it seemed he was growling more at himself than at her. "You can't sleep out here."

Vilkas knelt down to be on her level. "Deanne, there's a place… It's the place that the priest and I went earlier today."

"Is it dangerous?" Was that why he wasn't enthusiastic about taking her there?

"Yes—well… I think so." He growled again. "There are dangerous things _in_ it."

He did not want to take her to this place. And Deanne wasn't so sure about trading the cold for a physical threat. But the idea of being inside and out of this weather… "Is there anywhere else?"

"Around here? I don't know. I don't get up here much. Don't know the region." He sat back heavily on the ground with a furious exhalation. "Deanne… I didn't tell you what I did with the priest."

Deanne waited when he paused, saying nothing until Vilkas felt like continuing.

"I…" By his breathing, he seemed to steel himself. "I did go with the priest up to this temple. We went through it fine. Didn't find anything. At least nothing I could fight. But he showed me what was causing the nightmares in Dawnstar." He paused. "What do you know about daedra?"

"Um…" Father hadn't wanted her exposed to that kind of thing, but Marc had talked about them some during those rare moments of communication between the siblings. And on a few occasions when he and father had fought and Marc threatened to go join a Daedric cult rather than stay in the house. "No more than anyone else, I guess."

"Well there's a daedric artifact in that temple. It's what's causing Dawnstar to have nightmares."

Deanne started. An actual Daedric artifact? Deanne felt torn. She knew she was supposed to be afraid of this sort of thing. But, the truth was, she didn't know enough about daedra to fell that kind of fear. Father had kept her well insulated from bad influences. That treatment turned out to be a mixed blessing just now.

"Is it very bad?"

"I don't know," Vilkas admitted. "It was pretty far down. On a low level. And then there was that magic barrier. If we couldn't get past, I'm guessing nothing on the other side can either. And there wasn't anything on the outer side to worry about…"

But… "But you don't want to take me in there."

It sounded like he passed a hand roughly over his face. "It's not _just_ the artifact. The priest is probably still there."

"Is that bad?"

"Well, it's—" He stopped midsentence and stood up. "Never mind. I shouldn't have—" Another sound of frustration. "Come on. I'm sure there's some proper shelter somewhere ahead. We'll just keep going until we find it."

"Vilkas—" When Deanne fought her arms free of her garments' restraints to reach for him. When her arm was finally free, her hand found only empty air. The motion caught his attention though, which was good. He had been leading up to something and she wanted to know what. "Vilkas, what _about_ the priest?"

The man hesitated for a good long time before admitting, "He wanted me to bring you to the temple.

She was shocked. "Why?"

Deanne could hear his teeth grind. "He wanted to use you to get past that barrier we met."

The revelation brought Deanne's mind up short and pulled it in two directions. The priest had asked for her? Did that mean she could do something? Something to help the people of Dawnstar? It was a bit astonishing. She could actually help to fix what was going on down there. But what could it be?

But what could she possibly do? Deanne couldn't do anything. Was her knitting or her apprentice alchemy supposed to help defeat a daedric artifact?

And then there was a word that caught her attention. 'Use'. The priest wanted to 'use' her. That didn't sound exactly good. A little off putting, actually. But, as a priest of Mara, there wasn't any real reason to doubt him, was there?

"Why didn't you tell me?" Vilkas had come back and wanted to leave Dawnstar immediately. Why hadn't he told her that priest wanted her help?

"Because he'd dangerous," Vilkas said angrily. It wasn't anger at her. But he was angered about something.

"But he's a priest of Mara. And if I could help, then—"

"He was a priest of Vaermina first!"

Even the wind seemed to pause at this reveal.

Vaermina. "That's one of the Princes…right?"

Vilkas lowered himself down into the snow again. "Yes. He told me before I came back to the inn. He wanted me to bring you up to the temple so we could get past the barrier. I knew he was holding something out on me, so I flat refused until he explained himself. He was a priest of Vaermina in that very temple for most of his life. He's dangerous, Deanne. I don't trust that he's not going to…sacrifice you or something."

Deanne stayed quiet, trying to process all this. Vilkas groaned and rubbed his face again. "Look, forget I said anything. But we can't stay out here. You're shaking like a leaf. We'll keep going until we find some real shelter. Somewhere we can get a fire started."

He urged her to stand up. She did so with a little difficulty, maneuvering on limbs that were difficult to feel, after which he rolled up the sleeping pallet they'd been sitting on. Deanne stayed wrapped up in her thoughts while he got the few things together and secure. "We'll find something." He hitched the packs onto his back and move to kneel in front of her. "I'll make sure you're warm tonight. We won't—"

"I'd like to try," she said softly as if providing him with permission to do it.

Now it was Vilkas's turn to be brought up short. He stood up and whirled on her so swiftly that Deanne took a step back for fear that she might be struck by accident. "No. _No_, not on your life!"

"But if the priest thought I could help—"

"Priest of _Vaermina_, Deanne. The same Daedra who's artifact is afflicting Dawnstar. How are we to know he isn't the cause?" he asked angrily.

"But how do you know he's not telling the truth? Maybe he became a priest of Mara to make up for worshiping a Daedra. He could have changed his ways."

Vilkas scoffed. "That's sure what he'd like us to believe."

"But what if it's the truth," she pressed. "What if he really is trying to do right? If there's something I can do to help, then I want to do it—"

"_Enough_!" He roared down at her.

Deanne's knees nearly buckled at the intensity of his fury. Just like that, the man she'd begun to know was gone and a stranger took his place. One who was large, strong and angry. Deanne took a stumbled step backwards and her arms snapped around her as she curled inward in fear. She couldn't handle anger, particularly when it was directed at her. Her father was always gentle. But Marc's fits of temper would often leave her in tears, even if it was Father he was yelling at. The priests learned to take their irritations elsewhere soon after she began spending time in the Temple. And not one of them had sounded as terrible as this.

The man seemed to realize how hard his outburst had been taken. He didn't advance. She heard words catch in his throat as he tried to come up with something to say. The words turned to a growl, which he quickly smothered when Deanne's feet shuffled another half step away.

"I'm sorry." His foot lifted and crunched nearer to her on the frigid ground. Then it halted and returned to its place. "I'm sorry," he repeated, this time more gravely. "This is for your protection. That priest—that Dunmer is dangerous. And I can't—" He faltered and puzzled fiercely for another way to convey what he wanted to. "Just because he says he's a priest does not mean he speaks true. You can't just go about _trusting_ people at their word."

Deanne kept her arms about herself, hesitant to, ironically enough, trust that Vilkas would not harm her in his anger. She flexed her hand within her sleeve as she got up the courage to say a truth of her own. The movement of her hand proved as difficult as speaking, most of her fingers having gone numb and stiff. "M-maybe you can't. But…but I _have_ _to_. I have to trust people." She swallowed and brought up what she thought was a good point. "If I hadn't trusted you, I'd still be in the cave. Or dead."

The fact that he didn't immediately dispute her words implied that he found some truth in them. Deanne swallowed again, gathering enough courage to turn more toward him, if not enough to let her arms drop. "I'm sorry for…persisting. I just want to help."

It was most of a minute before Vilkas said, "And that's not a bad thing. It's just…you have to pick your causes."

"But not this one?" she asked. If saving a town wasn't a good cause, what was? Deanne honestly wanted to know.

She heard the friction of hair on hand as he answered, "Not _now_. You're not trained, you're not equipped. I don't know what that priest has in mind. But whether it's good or bad, you're not ready for it. You think I'm wrong?"

Deanne's chin dropped a bit. "No…I don't." It was just hard to see hardship and sit by doing nothing. "I just want to help. I know I can't do much…"

Vilkas said gently, "It's not our problem anymore. And we need to get you someplace warm. Come on."

He knelt in front of her again. This time Deanne did not voice her conflictions, although her climb onto his back was more awkward, seeing as her sense of security had been regressed and her limbs had become fairly stiff. Vilkas stood and reached up to adjust her hold on his shoulders, then he sucked in a breath. "You're hands are cold as ice."

Deanne tried to draw them a little further within her sleeves. "I can't really feel them," she admitted.

He cursed and then started muttering under his breath. "Don't know the area. Don't know where we're going to find shelter. The closest thing for sure is…"

Vilkas trailed off unhappily. Deanne didn't know what was going on in his head but, similar enough to his own words, it wasn't her problem. He said he'd get her to Winterhold. His would be the decisions they would go by to get there. She just pulled her arms off his shoulders completely and tucked them between her chest and his back. Hopefully blocking the frigid wind would return a little feeling.

The man said, adjusting his hands under her backside to be secure but considerate. "We have to get you warm," he said, grimly. "I won't take the chance you'll freeze just because—" He bit off the sentence and finished firmly, "I'm not going to let you freeze out here." They started off down the incline they had previously climbed, his heels sliding into the snow with each step.

With a slight turn of his head, Vilkas spoke more directly to her. "We'll go to the temple. We'll get you warm. Then we leave. But I want you to know this: if that priest does anything—_anything_ I don't like…I'll kill him. And I won't hesitate."

**I hope I represented the cold alright. The Pale's not exactly sunny beach country. Well...if you want to get technical, it _can_ be. But the poor girl is freezing here, let's not get knit-picky.**


	10. Nightcaller Temple

**Like I said, because of the long (and unnecessary) wait you've put up with for a Mind's Eye update, here is the second chapter update. Enjoy!**

As they moved down the mountain, Deanne began to shiver. She'd been shivering before from the cold. Certainly more often as she'd come north. Except now she couldn't seem to stop. Her whole body quivered and shook, almost violently, without pause or control. Soon after she started, Vilkas picked up his pace.

"Hang in there, little one. We're almost there."

Deanne heard the structure as they approached, breaking the wind against its walls and denying the storm that whipped around it. Vilkas made straight for the expanse and Deanne felt his muscles bunch as he heaved the door open and again when he closed them behind.

The inside of the building was warmer than outside, but her shivering continued. Vilkas walked some steps and gently lowered her to the floor. He tucked her against a low stone wall and then dropped his own cloak around her shoulders. Deanne tugged it closer, trying to absorb what body heat it carried. But the cold in her own layers refused even the smallest transfer.

A couple feet away, there was the ring of metal as Vilkas drew his sword. Deanne couldn't help the tremor of fear that accompanied the sound of the weapon coming forth, even his. At least until he expelled a breath of exertion and there was a crack as the blade met some length of wood. The target protested as he wrenched the blade free and then cracked again as he struck it a second time. Deanne listened as he dismantled the wooden structure. Once done with the sword, he took to snapping boards against the low wall and then chucking them into a pile.

The sounds of his demolition echoed through the room. Not long after he'd taken up the sword again, Deanne heard movement behind her. Vilkas picked up the approach almost exactly as she did and whirled to a halt, likely with blade at the ready.

"You've returned." Deanne recognized the voice of the priest of Mara.

Vilkas stood slowly but, by the smallest sound of anger in his throat, he did not lower his guard. "Yeah. But it's not what you think, _priest_." He spoke the last word with venom, his distrust palpable.

The priest of Mara came toward her back. The low wall Deanne leaned against was not a wall at all, but an elevated platform. "And your companion—? Ah!" He retraced his steps and descended at the back of the platform before coming around toward her. "It is a pleasure to see you again, my child."

Vilkas immediately moved to intercept, putting himself between them aggressively. "I said 'it's not what you think'. She was cold. This place was the closest shelter. That's the only reason we're here."

Deanne could imagine what was happening above her right now: Vilkas standing like an immovable object, daring the priest to try and maneuver or argue his way around. An argument that never came. In fact, when he spoke, the priest sounded positively crushed. "I see…"

And the guilt returned. Here she was, exactly as the priest had requested. But she couldn't bring herself to volunteer for whatever it was he had in mind. Because of Vilkas.

Vilkas was taking her to Winterhold. Without him, she would be alone again. And if she went against his decision, even if she thought that decision was wrong… In order to preserve herself in his care, she had to abide by his choices. And he had decided that she was not to be involved in this daedric nightmare business. So she wouldn't.

But there were more immediate problems. The relative warmth of the room did not chase away the chill that had burrowed into her body. Though she tried to keep the sniff was subtle, it yanked the men's attention away from their confrontation briefly. Vilkas gave the priest a final warning. "Go back to your lab, priest."

Another long moment passed. The priest took a step, but toward Deanne instead of the way he'd come. Vilkas' heavy foot slammed down in that path and Deanne heard a snarl erupt from his throat. "_What did I say_?!"

In a very reasonable tone, the priest responded, "She is suffering the first stages of hypothermia. I can help her. I am a healer. I have been for most of the last century."

"And you were a daedra worshiper the one before that." There was a sound of cloth that might have been the movement of a head and a slight inhale. "Yeah, I told her. So _back_. _Off_."

"Did you tell her also that I renounced that life long ago?"

"Once a daedra worshiper, always a daedra worshiper. And if you take another step toward her, I'll put you down like one."

The priest's tone remained perfectly level. "I have renounced Vaermina and all her works. Which is more than I could say for some."

Vilkas growled like a beast about to strike and Deanne shivered for more than just the cold. "P-please don't fight," she begged. This was too much like Marc and Father. And after the cave and the inn, she couldn't take any more.

Astonishing enough, she was heard. Unlike when she had tried to quell disputes within her own family, her plea now was answered. The aggression Vilkas was putting off ebbed slightly and he stepped back from the other man—mer. But he still held his position between them.

"We're not here to help you. And I'll tell you what I told her: you try and pull anything while we're here, I won't hesitate to kill you."

Vilkas wasn't making an idle threat, either. He would do it. He could do it. It was strange to witness so much anger in one man. Marc had always been irritated and frustrated. But Vilkas seemed to have a seething rage in him with which he could tear someone apart. Literally. She could feel it, now and back on the slope. And that was something of a shock considering how kind and gentle he'd been with her up until the moment the priest had come into their room at the inn. Deanne couldn't help but worry about being caught in the backlash of that anger should it break the surface.

The priest must have stood down noticeably because Vilkas's aggression receded further. Then the priest offered, "The rooms below are warmer than this one. It would benefit your companion more than the bonfire you appear to be constructing here."

And Vilkas's aggression rose, although he neither spoke nor moved to express it. Deanne waited, trying to stifle her shivers as she waited on the next decision that would be made for her.

"Are you so distrustful that you would deny her any assistance I might give?"

Two heavy steps brought them very close to one another. "You haven't done much to inspire trust."

"Aside from speaking only truth to you and willingly putting my life on the line for the people of Dawnstar?" the priest pressed. "I have made mistakes. But I wish only to serve Mara and the people of Skyrim in her name. Let me do that."

Deanne's shivers continued. It was so strange to be shaking so fervently and yet feel unable to move her limbs from the position they had numbed into. All she could really do was sit by and listen.

"She stays here. And you don't," Vilkas decided.

The woman's head drooped, feeling broken as the promise of warmth was refused.

"Your companion—"

"She'll be fine. Get out!"

Another confrontation of wills. But ultimately the priest backed away and retreated around the platform and up the stairs, his footsteps laden and solemn. Vilkas stayed on the defensive until Deanne could no longer hear the priest at all. And still her shivering persisted.

"Hold on, little one. Just a little longer." He went quickly back to his dismantling, giving a kick that snapped the latest wooden structure. "I'll have this going in just a minute."

Deanne huddled under the fur as he worked the wood into bits, separated out a smaller pile and she heard the tell-tale crackle of steel and flint. She listened hard, hearing the sparks as they were born and as they died. Vilkas blew lightly. Then the sound of grass being consumed.

Deanne's heart leapt in her chest and she sat forward hopefully, fearful of getting too close too soon and disturbing the fire he was bringing to life. Vilkas tended what he'd made, adding bits of wood. Deanne smelled smoke. The pieces of wood being moved became bigger and then she heard the first crackle of a living flame as the smallest wafting of heat over her cheek. The warmth was so welcome that she could have cried.

Vilkas made some adjustments and then gained his feet. "Alright, little one, it should be burning well in a minute. Let's get you closer."

At first contact Deanne hooked her fingers onto his armguards like talons. Or as best she could manage with those fingers refusing to bend to their fullest. When Vilkas lifted her up, Deanne's feet skidded slightly as she struggled to straighten her legs again. But they made it to the fire. It wasn't much yet, but it was warm.

Deanne reached her hands out and soaked them in the ray of heat that the flames were giving off. For a moment, she couldn't get enough. In the next, the welcome heat turned to searing pain. She cried out and yanked her hands back, terrified she might have placed them _in_ the fire itself.

"Easy," Vilkas reassured her and drew her hands out from where they were clutched to her chest. "They're just cold. Too much heat at once. Here." He tugged her hands back into the radius of the fire's heat, then covered them with his and then began rubbing them vigorously between his palms.

It hurt at first. Her skin felt brittle enough that his rubbing would tear it right off. It wasn't long before the friction and the second-hand heat of the fire began to work feeling back into her hands. Her fingers, previously rigid and clumsy, softened and bent more naturally. Vilkas felt the change and moved up to her wrists and then her forearms, massaging life back into her limbs. The fire's heat on her now exposed hands and fingers did not cause pain this time.

"Do you think you can undo the ties of your robe?"

A minute ago the answer would have been 'no'. But now? "I think so."

"Go ahead and do it. Your layers are keeping the heat out better than they're keeping it in right now."

He let go of her arms and Deanne reached up to get the robe undone. The ties were still cold from the outside, but her fingers weren't. Once she'd gotten the robe undone, she went on to the buttons of the first overlarge dress, then the ties of the second, and loosened them just enough to feel the fire's heat burrowing through her inner garments and reaching her skin. She could have cried for joy.

"Better?" Vilkas asked.

Deanne nodded trying to stave off the sting of tears in her eyes.

"Can you feel this?"

There came a little pressure on her foot. But she didn't know where exactly he was touching, only that her boot shifted a little on her calf in response. Deanne shook her head. "Not really."

He exhaled. "I'd like to take off your boots and do the same thing I did with your hands. That alright?"

Deanne nodded. Even though she had misgivings about him taking off her clothes, the promise of relief from the bitter low temperatures was too much to refuse.

He untied her laces and then worked to loosen them all the way down. Deanne tried to help get her boot off, but her ankle wouldn't bend like she told it to. There was a bolt of fear when Vilkas hooks his hand under the back of her knee. The feel of the bandits' grasping at her rose up quickly. But Deanne clenched her jaw and refused to make either movement or sound.

He finally got her boot and stockings off, and began rubbing her foot and then her calf in the heat of the fire. Deanne had to focus very hard on keeping control of her terrors. The feel of someone's hand on her skin still only meant horrible things to her.

But the effort to keep from reacting was well worth it. The feeling returned to her toes as well as it had to her fingers. The room was not as warm as the inn and the floor harder and colder than the bed, but it was a vast improvement on freezing out on the side of the mountain.

There was a sound from the platform again. Vilkas's hands stopped moving and his aggression returned. "I told you to keep out, priest."

"And I thought that the least I could offer would be some bedding and blankets. We are not all blessed with Nordic resistance to cold."

Vilkas growled, but acquiesced. "Fine. Drop 'em and be off."

The priest moved carefully down the platform and toward the side of the fire nearest Deanne's back. She felt Vilkas plant a hand beside her and lean forward and a bit over her. But she doubted he was looking at her. Chances were he had his eyes locked on the mer, prepared to pounce on the priest if he came too close.

The collection of cloth was set down approximately two yards away but, instead of leaving like Vilkas had ordered, the priest walked around the fire and descended to the ground opposite the flame from them.

Vilkas was not pleased. "That wasn't an invitation to stay around."

His voice even as it could be, the priest responded, "I cannot depart in good conscience. I share your concern for your companion's safety."

This declaration incited a particularly intense growl from her escort. He wholly distrusted the priest, didn't he? There was no movement, just a nonverbal battle of wills between those with the sight to do battle with. It seemed clear enough to Deanne that the priest was not going to leave and that Vilkas could not make him unless he did so physically.

When there had been no movement for several seconds, Deanne reached forward to undo her other boot. Her feet were still cold. That brought Vilkas back.

"I've got it."

There was enough blood flowing through her that Deanne could arc her foot so that the boot came off smoothly. It still felt good for Vilkas to massage her last appendage back into proper working order. He did do so more slowly than the others, probably keeping an eye on their new arrival the whole time. Vilkas kept his watch until he was done with Deanne, and as he stood and rearranged the delivered bedding. All the while the priest neither moved nor spoke.

Deanne didn't either, but she wasn't paying the others much attention. Instead, she tried to focus on the fire, making a memory she could dwell on during their journey over the 'tundra' tomorrow. Waves of heat washed over her, seeping into her skin and clothing just as the cold had. It crackled merrily filling the empty air and driving off the awkward atmosphere the two men had consolidated. Deanne listened and felt, absorbing all of it, and let her eyes droop as contentment set in.

"So how long have you known each other?" the priest asked out of the quiet.

"None of your business—"

"A few days," Deanne answered automatically. She clapped her mouth shut when Vilkas gave a disapproving rumble.

The priest went largely unperturbed. "Hm," he said thoughtfully. "I would have guessed you had been together for some time."

"I'm warning you, priest—"

"I am only making polite conversation," the priest replied innocently.

"Well don't," Vilkas ordered.

It went unheard. "There is little else to do here. I cannot surmount the barrier alone. And it would be both unwise and fruitless for me to travel down to Dawnstar at this time of night." He seemed to focus on her. "You do seem like long-time companions. I am intrigued. What brought about such closeness in such short a time?"

Deanne's first instinct was to respond truthfully but she silenced her tongue this time. Vilkas didn't seem keen on sharing information with the mer, and she didn't wish to go against him.

"Leave her be, priest. She doesn't want to talk to you."

"Perhaps… Or perhaps she is afraid to."

Vilkas snorted. "Imagine that. Someone reluctant to talk to a daedra worshiper."

"There is more than one person to be wary of here."

He couldn't mean Vilkas. Or perhaps he did. Perhaps he'd seen Vilkas' temper, exhibited now by another warning growl. Except, for the most part, that temper hadn't been directed at her. Deanne was a little wary of the possibility, true. But Winterhold wasn't far, was it? How likely was it he might turn it against her between here and there?

Vilkas came to stand over her, speaking to the mer across the fire. "That's it, priest. I want you out of here. Now. Or I'll put you out."

"There is no need for such hostility," the priest replied, rising to his feet. "I will leave freely if she answers one question:— "

"Not your call," Vilkas growled taking the first steps around the fire.

"—was it his decision that you not assist me, or was it yours?"

Vilkas adjusted his stance, his armor straining as he prepared to attack. "You're out of line, priest."

"My name is Erandur," was the curt reply. "And I would not persist if the need were not great. She has the proper temperament and she is the best chance to save Dawnstar."

"I don't care. Whatever it is, she's not doing it. I said I'd kill you if you tried anything."

"I am unarmed."

"You're a daedra worshipper."

"And what are you, then?"

Vilkas's voice darkened and became low. "Chose your next words carefully, _priest_." Deanne's felt an involuntary shudder run through her at the sound.

The priest, Erandur, remained astonishingly unafraid. "Do not pretend there is no danger to her in your presence."

"I would never hurt her," Vilkas said, his tone positively lethal.

"Even with your best intentions, there is no guarantee of that."

Vilkas snarled and she heard him go for his sword.

The priest cut him off. "I will leave. But I will finish speaking first. I want you to know exactly what is going to happen if you refuse and leave me to face this alone."

The direction of his speech shifted and Deanne felt him speaking to her more than her protector. "The Skull is conscious. It is feeding by its own volition now, and it will not be sated. That is its nature. The people of Dawnstar have been suffering nightmares for weeks, but that is only the beginning. The Skull will drain them dry.

"In a few weeks more, the first person will become comatose. They will fall asleep and never awaken. And then another. And another. And without a means to sustain their bodies, they will die soon after. The Skull will kill everyone in the town. Then it will grow stronger. It's radius of influence will grow, and more will be affected, drained and killed. And that radius may never stop growing. It will do the same to Winterhold, Morthal, Windhelm."

Deanne's heart skipped a beat. She'd been concerned for the people of Dawnstar, but she hadn't thought the situation was that serious.

"The more it consumes, the stronger it will grow until it reaches all of Skyrim. I can't imagine anything will be able halt its progress. Particularly as there will be no way to reach the Skull to destroy it."

There was a rustle of cloth and Vilkas immediately drew his blade from the sheath in response.

The priest pressed on. "In this vial is what is called Vaermina's Torpor. It is the only sample left in the alchemical lab and I do not have the knowledge to create any more. When consumed, it allows the imbiber to walk the dreamscape of Vaermina. A side-effect is the ability to travel physical distances through those dreams. But it will only work for priests of Vaermina or, lacking that, the unaffiliated."

Vilkas rumbled, "So you should have no problem."

There was the sound of glass on glass and the tiniest undertone of moving liquid, followed by an extended silence. "You see? I have sworn myself to Mara. What more proof do you need that I am no longer Vaermina's follower?"

Vilkas grunted, unimpressed. "So find someone to do it. Someone _else_," he clarified.

The priest exhaled, his reasonable tone giving way to some frustration. "Even priests of Vaermina need to develop themselves mentally in order to effectively use the Torpor. But even if I were to find an appropriate candidate in Dawnstar it would take weeks, perhaps months, before they could use the Torpor to do what is needed. And by then, the Skull will have taken lives."

"Sounds like that's the only choice you've got."

"No, because your companion has the appropriate mentality now!" Deanne sat up in surprise. "I could sense it when I attempted to heal her. Most have to develop themselves, psychologically and magically, before they can use the Torpor. It is very rare to naturally possess the mentality. But I know of what I speak. If she takes the Torpor, she will be able to do what we need."

"Do what?" Deanne asked. She remembered too late that Vilkas didn't want her involved. But it was very difficult to prevent the question from coming forth. Especially as her desire to help had bloomed to life again with the presentation of this chance.

The priest spoke straight to Deanne. "There is a magical barrier erected between us and the lower levels where the Skull resides. It is maintained by an enchantment that is cast from the other side of the barrier. There is no way for us to get to it to disable it, and therefore no way to reach the Skull. But, using the Torpor, someone could travel past the barrier on the dreamscape and return to Mundus where the enchantment can be disrupted and dispersed."

"And what of the marauders and your old cultist brothers?" Vilkas demanded. "You're so wrapped up in this quest of yours that you're willing to put her—anyone—at risk to complete it."

Deanne hesitated. Marauders? Cultists?

"In the dreamscape, she would come to no harm. And if she were to return nearest the enchantment, there would be no one to threaten her. Once the barrier comes down, the Miasma will be slow to disperse. There is no telling how many, if any, will awaken."

"Miasma?" Deanne asked hesitantly, unsure if Vilkas was being swayed at all by this, but too curious herself to keep silent.

The priest replied quickly, "The Miasma is a gas that induces sleep. The priests of Vaermina use it for their rituals. And as a defense mechanism when the Orc marauders attacked—"

"What?!" Deanne balked. Marauders. Like bandits. Like the ones that had almost—! A sudden terror welled up inside of her.

"No, no, my child. They are all asleep. The barrier keeps the Miasma contained around them and the Miasma keeps them unconscious. They would only—_ugh_!"

Deanne started a little as there was a sound of concussion: Vilkas closing the distance between the two and striking the priest. She could only hope that the priest's sound had been more from surprise than pain, but he stumbled.

"I've been patient with you, priest. I let you make your case, and you've gone and scared her. You're done. Understand me. I'll let you walk out of this room because you might be the only one who actually knows what's going on with that Skull. But I don't promise anything if you come back before we're gone. Got it?"

The priest moved and, when he spoke, he was turned toward Vilkas. "People are going to die. We can stop it. This is our best – perhaps our only – chance—"

"You have a plan," Vilkas growled at him. "Get on it. Maybe only a few people will die while you're training whoever. But you're not using _her_."

"And if it were your life at stake? Would you say the same? I know it is dangerous. I know it is frightening. But if we do nothing, the result will be worse. Far worse."

"You're not using her!"

"People will die! Does that mean nothing to you?"

Deanne couldn't take it anymore. "Stop, stop, _stop_!" The two men fell silent and she felt their attention shift to her. By the Eight, she couldn't take the fighting. She hated the fighting. "I-I'll do it. I'll do it."

There wasn't a sound from either of them at first. It was heart-wrenching because she couldn't tell what their reactions were to her declaration until they did. And she needed to know. From Vilkas in particular. Deanne used the silence to gain her feet. They were a little weak and she felt a low roiling of fear in her stomach, but she stood just the same.

The priest of Mara spoke first. "Thank you, my child."

"Not a word!" Vilkas snapped. His footfalls crossed back to Deanne and she tensed subconsciously when he took her arm, even gently. He spoke quietly, "You don't have to do anything, Deanne."

"I…I know. But I want to." She'd spent her whole life being on the receiving end of so much. But now? Now she could give back. Really give back. This was the first time that she could do something significant for others instead of just running errands or doing menial tasks. And if she did die from this...

Deanne swallowed. She wouldn't really be much of a loss. The world might even be better off without a burden like she was. And she would have died saving other people's lives. If she was going to die, that was a good thing to die for, wasn't it?

The priest spoke up. "We will make sure you are prepared. You should know the layout of—"

"Shut up!" Vilkas roared.

"Vilkas, please—"

The hand around her arm squeezed. "Don't say another word. You are not—"

"I just want to help," she tried to argue, though it came out more as a whispered imploration.

"The Orcs are all further in," the priest answered her quickly. "You would be at greater risk of succumbing to the Miasma yourself then encountering any of them—"

"Shut up!" Vilkas roared. Then he squeezed Deanne's arm hard enough to be painful. "I will not let you do this. You're going to Winterhold, and that's final."

She tried not to squirm in his grip. "You...you said I should pick my causes. Well, I think this is a good one." Even if she was terrified of what might happen. "I want to help. He said I can."

"He's a daedra worshiper!"

"I am not a danger to her," the priest said, once again taking steps toward them.

Vilkas whirled around, snarling and wrenching Deanne behind him. "Not a danger to her? Look at what you're dragging her into. How is that not a danger to her?"

Deanne reached to where he held her, trying to pry his hand loose. "Vilkas…" she implored weakly. He was very strong and he was holding her very tight.

"We are all taking a risk," the priest argued. "When the barrier is down, I must reach the Skull to destroy it. You think that has no risk?"

"That doesn't make it alright," the warrior snapped.

"I will do everything in my power to keep her from harm's way."

"So am I." The hand on her arm tightened further. Deanne felt the pressure of his grip on her bones and whimpered.

The priest of Mara said forcefully, "Yet look at what you are doing!"

She felt the slight twist of his arm as Vilkas turned to look in her direction. He inhaled sharply and the hand on her arm went limp, although his fingers stayed wrapped around her bicep. Deanne exhaled with relief. She was afraid to try and take her arm back from him, though. He might grab her again.

There was a very long silence. Vilkas' breathing was strained, but she couldn't get a read on what he was thinking. What was he thinking?

Once again, the priest of Mara broke the quiet. "Child, do you truly wish to do this? I promise to do what I can to lessen it, but there will be danger involved."

Deanne's attention shifted to Vilkas, worried about his reaction when she said, "Yes. I understand. But I want to help." The woman turned her final word to her 'protector'. "Please." He could stop her if he wanted. Neither she nor the priest could really stop him if he put his foot down. But if Vilkas could just understand. She was scared but she didn't mind the risk. And this was the right thing to do.

The Nord's hand dropped from her arm abruptly. Deanne reached for the place he'd gripped her, touching the tender flesh of her arm. It might well bruise.

He was going to leave now. She'd gone against his decision. He hadn't wanted her to help and she'd pushed for it anyway. He was going to walk out, probably angry, and leave her to her own devices. That was what happened when you did something others didn't support. They left so they didn't have any part in it. She'd have to find someone else to help her get to Winterhold. Maybe, if they came out of this okay, the priest of Mara would.

"You're going to tell us everything," Vilkas said, his voice low and warning. "I want to know every single detail about this place and everything that happened. How many cultists. How many marauders. Every weapon you remember seeing and every single spell we might get hit with. If we're going to assault this place, we're doing it my way. Got it?"

The priest was quick to accept. "Absolutely."

Deanne was a little…more than a little surprised. "You're staying?"

Now he sounded surprised. "Of course I'm staying." There was a paused and then he took a step away. "I promised I'd get you to Winterhold. And I will. Don't worry."

The woman nodded hesitantly. He was staying? And was still going to take her to Winterhold? She hadn't expected…

Maybe now wasn't the time to dwell on that. They might not even survive this. Not with how many Orc marauders and Vaermina cultists the Priest of Mara was surmising were still in the building. But she was going to do her part here. For the first time, she was going to do something significant for others. Deanne tried to keep her mind on that instead of how afraid she was as she listened to the priest and Vilkas plan. Whatever happened, she was going to do her part.

**I hope you liked the chapter. It took a long while to finally get Deanne where I wanted her. She was such a pansy and Vilkas was so protective, it took a few rewrites to get her to take the Torpor.**

**Thanks for reading. Come back next chapter to see how Deanne fairs with Vaermina's draught.**


	11. The Dreamstride

**Hey look, another chapter! We've got to get Deanne to Winterhold, don't you agree. That's my goal anyway. Then I can split back to the other projects...maybe.**

It wasn't so difficult, really. All Deanne needed to do was find the podium from which the boundary spell was being cast and remove the central soul gem. After that she would just wait while Vilkas and the priest Erandur would go down through the temple, through the daedric priests and Orc marauders, to the Skull and destroy it.

If only it were so easy. Erandur spent a couple of hours helping her memorize the layout of the temple. That was about when this all began to sink in. It sounded like a simple task. And removing the soul gem would be. But getting there…

Deanne would have to manipulate this 'Dreamstride' to get her close. A manipulation that Erandur didn't understand and could provide her no guidance for. When she came out of the Dreamstride, she would have to figure out where she was and how to get to the podium in question.

But she would have a limited time to do it. The Miasma that the boundary was keeping contained, the same Miasma that was keeping all the daedric priests and marauders asleep, would begin affecting her as soon as she came out of the Dreamscape. If she failed to get to the soul gem in time, she would fall asleep the same as the others trapped behind there. There would be no way for anyone else to get in to help, and the Skull would do what the priest had warned: feed until it killed.

They had one chance and it all rested on her.

"Deanne?"

Deanne turned her head to acknowledge Vilkas when he spoke. This was the closest he'd gotten to her in over an hour. He'd been keeping his distance. Was it because he still disapproved of her choice? Was it to keep from scaring her after he'd grabbed her so hard? Was his distance for his sake or for hers?

The warrior continued, "You don't have to do this. We can still go. You don't owe anyone anything."

It was tempting, true. This was the most anyone had ever asked of her. The most effort, the most danger. Part of her wanted to run away. But only part.

Deanne shook her head. "I want to do this. I…I think I can."

"You most certainly can." The priest of Mara had returned, bringing with him a strange smell. He knelt in front of her and placed a slightly damp rag in her hand. "This is soaked in a potion that will keep you aware. It will fight the Miasma and buy you another few minutes."

Deanne lifted the rag and sniffed it. She smelled lavender but the rest was unfamiliar.

"Thank you."

"Whenever you're ready we should go down to the barrier. I don't know how much proximity will help, but it can't hurt."

Deanne nodded dumbly, tying the rag around her neck. So this was really happening.

"Okay…I…I'm ready."

Deanne was helped to stand up and they all went down the first long stairway. The young woman counted the steps. 42. Landing. Eight steps to cross. Another staircase. 54 steps.

There were sounds to her left the whole time. The barrier that was up and wrapped around the lower floors. She heard it as they approached the bottom of the second staircase too. A buzzing, thrumming sort of sound that she could also feel in the air.

"Here we are," Priest Erandur said. "I'm not sure what affect proximity will have on the Torpor, but we will be right here when you bring down the barrier."

Deanne nodded as Vilkas stepped away and dropped the arm she'd been holding onto. The distance hurt a little. She'd come to depend on him. But perhaps there were more important things to be focusing on right now.

The next thing she knew, the priest was pressing a small glass vial into her hand.

"Whenever you're ready."

Deanne nodded dumbly, but did nothing but close her hand around the glass.

…She needed a minute. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale.

The young woman pulled up the rag and tied it to hang across her nose and mouth, the herbs and ingredients flooding her nose with each breath. Then, before she could think about it, Deanne uncorked the bottle, lifted the edge of the rag and swallowed the contents in a single mouthful.

It tasted…pleasant. A light taste that she couldn't describe that made her feel light and—

XXX

…

…

_She…_

_She could see…_

_By the Eight, she could see!_

_Deanne found herself standing on a height, the whole world spread out around her feet. The vision before her was not the swirls and mists of inconsistent color that her mind still managed to conjure out of her distant memories in sleep. These were true, clear features and landscapes. Shapes and colors that were vivid and distinct. More than she could recognize from so long ago. And almost more than she could take!_

_Her mind looked at this panoramic view of the whole world and couldn't process it properly. Mountains, fields, forests with trees as small as blades of grass from this height. There were spots that…maybe cities? Settlements?_

_But no sound. Deanne started breathing hard, gasping and straining to detect some texture in the air. She couldn't hear anything! She couldn't smell anything! The air around her didn't even move. This 'Dreamstride' lacked any sort of familiar quality. All the senses she had come to depend in her life were just gone and her long absent sight was thrust upon her. It was too much! Too much!_

_But she couldn't close her eyes. The world assaulted her vision with no regard and she was unable to block it out. _

_She was…on a mountain? Very high up, with everything else looking much smaller than she remembered the world being. The colors were so brilliant. Greens and blues. Even the tan and brown were almost unbearable to look upon. T__he sky, in contrast, was inky dark somehow. Deanne didn't question how an inky black sky could somehow light up a landscape. She just turned her head straight up, letting the dark sky dominate her vision. _

_Thank the Eight. The world below was too much to look at. A nearly black sky, however, was far more akin to her what she knew._

_But it wasn't empty. While there was a great deal of empty space, it was also full of tiny lights. There were thousands…no, millions of them. All different sizes, clustered and scattered at random. But they were so small, it didn't overwhelm Deanne to look at them. Stars? She remembered stars_…_She'd missed stars—_

_LIGHT! Light lanced up from the earth, bursting unwelcome across her vision. Deanne cried out as her newly-returned vision was bombarded by a rainbow of brilliant pigments. Pinks, blues, greens, oranges, reds, magentas. Every color she'd never imagined spilled between her and the calm, dark sky, the ribbons of light twisting and spreading over everything in a mad frenzy. And Deanne could not close it off. Her eyes would not shut!_

_Something stirred behind her. Deanne trembled but could not keep her head from turning toward the sound. The movement was issued by some great animal. But seeing it was far worse than hearing it. It uncoiled from atop a curved stone wall. Enormous, scaled, winged, with a great maw that could easily swallow her whole._

_Deanne's tremble became a shake, her knees threatened to buckle. But she could no more move than she could close her eyes. Not even her mouth would open for her to scream. _

'Father! Father, where are you?! Please save me!'—

—_Somewhere else. The mountain top was gone and Deanne was somewhere else. Somewhere familiar. There were sounds and smells here, thank the Eight! And she knew them, even if the sight of the space was alien. The smell of stone and incense, the quiet echo of soft speech from old walls. And several of those voices were issued by people she knew.  
_

_Deanne searched around, seeing, for the first time in most of her life, the Chapel Hall of the Temple of Stendarr in Skingrad. She had spent regular time here for years, looked after by the priests and priestesses when her father was still able to work the fields. How many hours of how many days had she spent here, secure within stone walls that were blessed by and dedicated to the Divines? She'd listened to the priests and priestesses teach the masses and council troubled folk. She'd mixed basic potions of healing and learned some Restoration to assist in healings. It was so strange to acquaint this familiar space with the unfamiliar sight of it and see the place where she'd spent so much time while blind._

_One of the priestess, a Bosmer healer, spoke quietly over the bed of someone ill, then stood and went about her next task. She passed a young Orsimer acolyte on her way to the temple proper and they paused together briefly._

"_It should not be long, I think," the healer said sadly._

_The acolyte nodded. "Good he took care of things when he did."_

_They both gazed at the bed and the still form a few seconds longer, caught in melancholy thoughts. "Call me if there is any change," the healer said at last. Then they parted ways._

_Deanne hesitated, but turned to look at the bed in question. She was afraid to approach, but something told her she must. Without taking a step, she somehow crossed the distance and looked upon the face of he who lay abed._

_A sound choked from her throat. It was her father. It had been so long since she'd seen him, and he looked so different from what she remembered. But this was her father. He was much thinner now. His face was gaunt, his skin pale, his body frail. Where were the arms that had carried her about so resolutely? Where was the jovial smile she had tried her hardest to retain in memory?_

_His eyes were closed. He slept. But the expression on his face implied that he was in perpetual pain. Deanne wanted to weep. She tried to speak and the desire to shed tears redoubled. Could she not even tell her father that she was here? That he wasn't alone? That she was alright and that she loved him? Was she denied even that?_

_She listened to him breathe, each inhale weak, each exhale caught in a dry unhealthy throat as it was expelled. Deanne stood over him, wishing to speak. Wishing to be at his side again like before. She would give up this new sight gladly if only to be with him again like before. Because she wasn't truly here. She could feel it. Deanne might see him, smell the incense of the temple and hear her father's every breath. But she was not truly at his side._

_Then…it just stopped. Deanne listened, expecting his next breath every passing second. But it never came. The seconds became a minute and…he hadn't breathed again._

_Deanne's throat constricted and she reached for him. Or tried. But her limbs would not obey. She wanted to cry again. So she could approach his bedside, but she couldn't not touch or comfort or help. The minute became three. And that…that was when she realized…her father was gone._

_Her mind went blank, unable to process. Unable to comprehend. Unable to accept that her father, the man she had depended on for her entire life…was…_

'Marc…Marc!'—

_—Somewhere else, again. There was still the smell of stone, but not familiar stone. It was wild stone. Rock and dirt and moisture. And…metal? Unfamiliar plants. Sounds still echoed, but off of caverns and narrow passages. And those sounds were unfamiliar and frightening. Shouts and yells, strange creatures shrieking, antagonistic gears. She didn't even know metal could sound antagonistic._

_But one voice in the cacophony of sounds broke through to her. Marc!_

_Deanne took a step forward despite the frightening unfamiliarity of the environment. Her legs obeyed her this time. She had to find Marc. He was here. She had to find him and tell him that their father…their father was gone. They really were alone now. They had to stay together. _

_The caverns were dark, but not black. It was still more familiar to her than the blindingly distinct landscape from before or the strange sight of a place that had been familiar to her while blind. Oddly enough, this place of limited light was more comfortable to her. Based on the sounds it reached high above and far below. But there was some kind of walkway carved into the wall. Deanne shuffled forward until her feet found it._

_He was here. She could hear him. He was fighting. _

"_I am master of the Arcane! You cannot conceive the power I wield."_

_She had to get to him. She had to help him if she could—_

_Deanne felt something strange and stopped in her tracks. Something loosened around her. It was… Something that had been wrapped around her suddenly loosened. Not her clothes. It was closer and more fully encompassing than that._

_The Dreamstride! She was coming out of the Dreamstride!_

_Upon that realization, the first thing instinct was for Deanne to snatch back whatever had been threatening to fall away. There was no explaining how she did it or how she knew how to do it. It was much like wrapping a cloak or blanket tighter that the wind had been tugging at, but with her mind. This wasn't exactly right, but there was no way to really explain what she'd somehow known to do._

_The woman remained still, thinking fervently. Her brother was here. She had been so worried about what had become of him. And now he was here. If she came out of the Dreamstride now, they would be together again._

_But Dawnstar…_

_If Deanne came out of the Dreamstride now, there would be no way to reach Vaermina's Skull. No way to stop the nightmares and suffering it was causing. Not to mention Vilkas and Priest Erandur would not know what had happened to her or where she was._

_Another destruction spell was cast, something shrieked and Marc gave a shout of victory. _

_He was doing fine. If she reappeared here, now, like this, it would be a surprise to him. She would return, in all likelihood, blind and the burden she'd been before. Marc wasn't prepared for something like that. He was doing well now. But if she appeared so suddenly, he might not be able to account for her. She might get both of them killed just by being present and in need of protection from whatever was here. She didn't even know where 'here' was._

…_She didn't even know where 'here' was. Marc was alive and fighting, but she didn't know where. If she went back to the temple over Dawnstar, she wouldn't know where to find her brother. She wouldn't know where to look for him and wouldn't be able to tell him where she was._

_Deanne swallowed and listened as Marc's voice began to fade, coupled with some unfamiliar people. Her brother was alive and he was not alone. That had to be enough for now. He was capable and sure to get to Winterhold, and do so easier without her to look after._

_The woman swallowed and stilled her desires and anxieties. _'Be well and stay safe, Marc. I will get to Winterhold. Just find me there. Please.'

_It took great effort, but Deanne put her brother from her mind. He would be fine. But there were people depending on her. Lives that were hanging whether or not she did what needed to be done. As much as she _wanted_ to reunite with her brother, she _needed_ to think about removing the barrier that protected the Skull._

_Deanne held the Dreamstride close around her and didn't let it go. She needed to get back to Dawnstar and the Temple. But how? Could…could she walk from here?_

_No. She'd 'traveled' by thinking of people. She'd thought of her father and…and been taken to him. She'd thought of her brother and found him. Now, she just had to think about someone else. Vilkas. Vilkas was at the temple. If she could just think hard enough about finding him, that might—_

—_Another place. But not like the others. This place didn't feel as solid as the others. And not just because she was holding the Dreamstride around her. Colors, smells, sounds, feelings, all of them were smeared and tinted by something…else. Something wild._

_Deanne was growing used to her new sight, although this place presented strange sights to her. The ground didn't feel like ground. It felt like something that was trying to be ground, but didn't know exactly what ground was supposed to feel like. The same could be said for the sky. It was red, for one. The sky wasn't supposed to be red, was it? She remembered the sky being blue._

_And before her was an enormous fence…sort of. It was a fence of trees and bushes and stones and other things she couldn't begin to describe or even name. But all of it was wild and so tangled that she couldn't see any way to get through. But beyond the fence was what looked like a great wilderness. A broad field, a forest, a body of water that didn't so much meander as pulsate through both. This was a true wilderness. It existed with a vigor that the world she knew lacked. Everything, from the trees to the grass to the stones was feverishly _alive_!_

_Deanne stepped closer. This wasn't Nightcaller Temple. This place wasn't cold and she couldn't see anything she would describe as snow. Where was the ocean? She'd thought of finding Vilkas. Why had she been taken here?_

_As the young woman looked through the tangle of the great fence, something stepped out from within the trunks of the wild forest trees. She couldn't remember seeing a wolf before her sight was taken, but that most certainly looked like how it had been described. Except bigger…and more frightening. Its shoulder had to stand nearly at her own. It prowled with intent, a powerful build barely contained beneath its fur and hide, fangs slightly bared, nose lifted to catch scents on the wind. Catch scents…and hunt them down._

_The beast stopped mid-step and its ears perked. Deanne held her breath, praying the fence was tangled enough to hide her. She had to think of something else—someone else, so that the Dreamstride would take her away from here before the creature saw her. But her mind went blank. 'Finding' her family had been easy. 'Finding' Vilkas hadn't been difficult when she took the time to think. But 'finding' any of the strangers or acquaintances she'd met when she was so scared…_

_The creature sniffed the air and its eyes turned on her. It saw her! Deanne couldn't make her feet move under the glare of the thing. She couldn't even move when it streaked across the field and straight for her. It was coming, all claws and fangs and predatory hunger. She couldn't run. She couldn't get herself 'away'! It was coming too fast! It was going to kill her!_

_At the last instant, the enormous wolf twisted and slammed its shoulder into the twisted fence. The sound of the impact gave a jolt to Deanne's system. She lurched without being able to take a step, thus toppling backwards. Thank the Eight, the fence held._

_The beast's glare locked their eyes together and Deanne couldn't think beyond her fear. All that stood between her and death by this wild creature was the strange fence. A fence which had gone completely unaffected by the beast's strike._

_It stayed intent on her. The thing turned and paced a length of the fence slowly, its fangs bared, a low growl issuing perpetually from its throat, and never taking its blazing eyes off of her. It wanted at her. Of course it did. She was the easiest of prey, if not for the one barrier between them._

_Deanne jumped when the beast lunged forward, sinking its teeth into the roots of the fence. Is whole body bunched and jerked and yanked, tearing at the barrier with all its might. The beast snapped its teeth into the roots again and again, gnawing and ripping and giving her a full view of the jaws that were going to end her life once it got through._

_But by some miracle, the fence remained strong. Though the beast tore at the roots, somehow they never weakened or splintered. Deanne's held breath became gasps. It couldn't get through. _'Please, Divines, say it can't get through.'

_The beast paused in its assault and cocked its head over its shoulder. Deanne's eyes darted behind it. There were others. Other enormous wolves coming out of the forest. They saw the beast at the fence. And then her. Deanne's terror broke part of the paralysis on her body and she squirmed backwards as the pack came racing toward her. The fence couldn't hold them all. One was sure to get through. She had to get away!_

_The beast at the fence turned and met the pack forerunner. They collided and immediately began tearing at each other, filling the air with sounds of feral, animalistic battle._

_Deanne threw herself down, still unable to close her eyes and looked straight at the ground. She had to get away. There was no way to outrun them. The Dreamstride was her only chance. She just needed to focus on somewhere to go!_

_Clutching the Dreamstride around her and shutting her ears to the fighting beasts, Deanne struggled for a direction. _

_The priest of Mara. Priest Erandur! Deanne blocked out the sounds and the terror and focused on the priest. She focused with all she had—_

—_She was 'away'. Back on the world. The ground was solid. The sounds and feel of the air were familiar, and she still held the Dreamstride around her. But things weren't like they were before. This was definitely the world she knew but her vision was…strange. Distant, almost. The same went for the sounds and other qualities of what was around her. _

_What was more than that, she felt…taller? And her body was…familiar but unfamiliar. The body was hers, but she had never worn it before. What was she even talking about? How did that make sense? But it was how it felt. This was her body but she'd never been in it before. And, while Deanne couldn't put her finger on what they were, there were definitely some difference between her now and how she had been 'before'._

_And she wasn't alone either. In front of her were two people: a Dunmer with skin of grayish blue and a Nord with twisted braids in his beard. They both wore purple robes and sharpened expressions. And behind them, elevated atop a platform was what appeared to be a skull atop a staff with a powerful magical aura about it._

_Vaermina's Skull. Without having seen it before and without knowing what it looked like, Deanne knew for certain that this was the artifact of Vaermina that she was helping to destroy. Was she in the temple then?_

_There was a sound from above. Sounds of spells and fighting. The sounds had a strange quality, distant although they occurred easily within hearing distance. The scent of the Temple was the same. Deanne looked up at the circular levels of the Temple, each gated off but unable to block the sounds that tumbled down to meet her ears. She listened and felt fear…and not just her own._

"_The Orcs have broken into the inner sanctum," the Nord said._

_The other nodded. "Then we have no choice. We must not permit the Skull to fall into the hands of such heathens. We must release the Miasma."_

_The Miasma. The gas that put everyone in the Temple to sleep. It hadn't been released yet? But Priest Erandur said everyone in the temple behind the barrier was asleep because of the Miasma, and had been for decades. What was she seeing, then?_

_The Nord was shocked. "The Miasma? But, brother…"_

"_It must be done. But the Skull must not be left unprotected." the Dunmer declared. He turned to face Deanne, looking upon her as if she were familiar to him. "Brother Casimir, will you activate the Miasma?"_

_Without direction, Deanne's head nodded. And when she spoke, she did not sound at all like herself. "I will."_

_The Dunmer was satisfied. "Go then and let nothing stop you. Vaermina willing, we shall soon meet in the Quagmire."_

_Again Deanne spoke, but not with her own voice. "Farewell, my brothers."_

_She turned, moving freely but not of her own volition, and went running out of the central chamber toward the stairway up into the rest of the temple._

_It was so strange to be seeing and moving so easily again. Not having to worry about each step. Being able to see corners and obstacles long before she came directly upon them. But the new aspect of sight meant she needed time to correlate it with the mental map that Erandur had helped her to form in her mind._

_Wait… She'd gone up two curved flights and through the sleeping chambers. Next was… Yes! The alcove that overlooked the central chamber on her right. There were cultists and orcs fighting everywhere. Thank the Eight, Deanne did not need to concern herself with avoiding them. Her body seemed to be doing that of its own volition. Two doorways. Now she was going up another flight. The doorway with the barrier should be… There!_

_She slowed at the approach, seeing a likeness of what must have been Vaermina on the wall with a large chain hanging from her hands. And, on a podium in front of her was some kind of ritual. The metal setting stand was askew and a few symbols had been smeared. Deanne reached forward without understanding and righted the arrangement, drawing the symbols back into place and replacing the setting in the center._

_Then she reached up and pulled hard on the chain before her. Immediately, there was a loud hissing sound. Purple tinted air began flowing from vents in the wall that she had failed to notice during her ascent. But Deanne wasn't done yet._

_Without understanding why, Deanne reached into her robe and drew forth a common soul gem. She hesitated, then inserted it deliberately into the setting. The gem glowed and she felt the energy within give life to the spell drawn with the ink. It took effect in front of her, tendrils of energy streaming forth from the crystal. At a foot distance they became drawn to the walls. The energies climbed along the walls of the chamber, across the doorway before her and out over the inner walls of the central chamber. When the web was complete, it would hold in everything: cultists, marauders, and Miasma. And, eventually, every living thing would breathe the gas and fall deep into sleep._

_Then, something went wrong. As she watched the energies of the barrier crawl and criss-cross and strengthen into something impermeable, she felt afraid. But it wasn't her fear. She felt it, but it wasn't hers._

_The energies began to form a proper web across the doorway, gradually filling in the empty spaces so that nothing could get out. Then…she lunged forward toward the barrier. _

_No, no! Deanne needed to be on _this_ side when she came out of the Dreamstride. The barrier wasn't strong enough to hold her in at this point. If she passed through then this whole thing would be for nothing!_

_Deanne tried to stop herself. But the body was not hers to control. Her attempts only slowed the world down, everything from the desperate dash for freedom to the crackling energies. She couldn't stop herself from escaping the Miasma. But she had enough slowed time to throw off the Dreamstride and fall back into the world proper—_

**More fun than Vaermina's Daedric Quest, yes? I hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading. Leave your opinion on this addition before you go and I'll see you all next chapter.**


	12. The Skull of Corruption

**The culmination of Vaermina's Daedric quest is at hand! And here we go!**

Deanne's momentum carried her forward into darkness, her attempts to stop the lunge forward only now taking effect. She staggered and fell, striking the stone floor hard with her hands and her knees, pain lancing up her limbs as she hit the ground.

"Deanne!"

Vilkas.

Deanne looked up into the blackness she'd known for so long and her first breath was full of something bitter. Whatever she had intended to say was cut off prematurely and she coughed hard.

"She's breathed the Miasma," she heard Priest Erandur say urgently. "Child, you must remove the soul gem. Quickly!"

Deanne felt like she was choking on her own throat and her senses were already beginning to swim. If she fell asleep from the Miasma now, everyone was doomed. The woman clapped her hand over her mouth and nose, finding the herb soaked rag there at her hand. The scents drove off some of the lightheadedness. Enough for her to gain her feet.

She tried to visualize the chamber in her mind to find the soul gem, but found she did not need to. She felt the magicka being transmitted into the doorway and felt the location of the source.

Deanne turned and took a few staggered steps forward, reaching out with her free hand. It clapped against the podium first; a podium that had been shorter in the Dreamstride. She pushed the strange inequality away and felt around. Her motions turned desperate and she fumbled for the mount. Thank the Eight that the gem was only set inside. It truly was a small thing to pull the soul gem out and rob the spell of its source.

The enchantment faltered immediately. With nothing to draw on, the energies around the door thinned and faded. Deanne felt the barrier give way and the bitter smelling Miasma in the air was diluted. She heard heavy footsteps approach and Vilkas's arms appeared to support her. Deanne rolled over his forearm at first contact and coughed hard, her whole abdomen convulsing to expel the foul gas, but every breath taken only dragging more of it into her lungs.

Vilkas hurriedly ushered her across the room and out the doorway into slightly clearer air where he lowered her to sit on the steps. Deanne held onto his arm, using him as a brace as she coughed lungs clear. It felt like a year before she managed to fill them properly and take full breaths again, her abdomen aching from the exertion. Divines preserve her, she never wanted to do that again.

After a minute or so, Priest Erandur said, "We need to get going. With the Miasma dispersing, there is no way to tell when anyone will begin to awaken. The Miasma can twist the mind with lengthy exposures. Anyone who wakes is more than likely to attack first and not ask questions. The sooner we get to the Skull, the less fighting we are to encounter."

"Just give her a minute, priest," Vilkas demanded.

Deanne reached up and squeezed his forearm. "I'm alright. Go get the Skull."

"Are you sure?" her protector asked.

She was a little dizzy and the Miasma was leaving an odd taste in her throat but—"Yes. I'll be fine. Go."

The man made a thoughtful sound and pulled her to her feet. A few more steps and he put her back into a corner. "Stay right here. In case someone comes this way, don't move or make a sound. I'll be back as soon as I can."

Deanne nodded to reassure him, although he was still slow to turn and follow the priest of Mara back through the doorway and down the far hall until the woman could no longer hear their footsteps.

The woman lowered herself to the floor and focused on breathing. The Miasma was still in the air, but was fading slowly. Very slowly. Perhaps if there were more windows in here, it would air out faster. But then again, if there were windows in here, they wouldn't have needed a Daedric torpor to get inside.

It was difficult to decide how to feel about being in the dark again. It had been so long…she'd forgotten what colors were, what the world looked like. Being able to see without need for sound or direct contact to navigate had been nigh overwhelming. But, given more time, she could have gotten used to it again. Maybe she'd be a different person without the darkness…

Deanne was quick to quash the thought when her eyes started to sting. It had been a trick of the mind and of a Daedric Prince. She was blind. She would always be blind. There was no need to backslide into a fruitless, hopeful, reminiscent stage again.

The woman listened closely to the temple around her. On occasion she would hear the echoes of what must be more fighting. She prayed that they were not encountering much in the way of danger. And she tried not to think about what she was to do if they didn't return.

There were footsteps running up the hallway. Deanne cocked her head and listened. Someone was breathing hard and running for all they were worth. None of it sounded familiar. The woman squeezed herself more-so into the wall at her back as the stranger went rushing through the doorway and up the steps to the exit. They tripped on the first flight, grunting with deep tones, but got up and were soon gone.

Who had it been? Marauder or priest? It must have been someone from inside the Temple. They'd been asleep for how long? Decades, right? How differently would they find the world outside from what they remembered?

From somewhere in the passage, a whisper broke through her thoughts. Deanne sat up and listened for whoever might be coming down the hall. But there was no sound of footsteps or movement. She leaned back against the wall just as the whisper repeated itself. She stayed attentive to the silence this time, straining to hear who was speaking and from where. After several seconds, it came again. Quiet but insistent, cutting through the quiet while the words themselves remained indiscernible.

The hallway fell silent again, and long enough for Deanne to stop listening so pointedly. That was when the whisper repeated. And this time, she understood what was said.

"_The Skull."_

Deanne stayed exactly where she was. It wasn't Vilkas or Priest Erandur. Wherever the sound was coming from, it could only be from someone who would hurt her.

But the voice came again, like it was speaking to her. _"The Skull!"_

But she didn't move. This corner was the safest place she could be right now. It was probably dark, tucked out of the way. No one coming through the doorway was likely to look closely at the wall immediately behind them. And Vilkas would be back soon. He'd promised.

"_The Skull! They're in danger._"

That got Deanne's attention. She felt this person was talking to her. Who was in danger? Vilkas?

"_Come quickly, before it's too late!"_

Despite herself, Deanne rose from the floor, although she remained tight to the wall. Was Vilkas in danger? How could she even help? How did this person even know?

"_Hurry!"_ The whisperer was so insistent that Deanne took a step forward. The speaker seemed to know and urged her on. _"This way."_ While before the whispering had seemed to come from much further in the temple, the last words seemed to come from directly around the doorway.

Deanne stopped herself. Who was it? How did they know where she was? Were they even talking to her?

"_You must hurry! There is little time!" _

The danger that might be posed to Vilkas and the priest of Mara outweighed Deanne's own self-preservation. She'd risked herself already today. Her usual inhibitions didn't seem so all encompassing. Especially not if she could help those who had helped her so much. She had to help them if she could.

Hugging the wall, Deanne got to the doorway and edged around the frame.

Now the voice seemed to be coming from just down the hall. "_Come_."

Deanne stayed in the doorway. "Who are you?" Who was she following and why did they care about her companions?

"_Come_!" the voice insisted and Deanne couldn't take the chance.

She came out of the doorway and crossed the open space, aiming for the inner wall of the passage. Finding it with her hand, she followed the wall down the hallway after the voice that guided her forward with one urgent word after another. Deanne heard herself approaching an opening into the inner chamber. The sounds that surrounded the Skull during her Dreamstride were unmistakable and indicated a barred window most likely. And it was there that the voice stopped her.

Deanne came even with the opening just as something occurred down at the chamber's bottom.

There were two sets of footsteps far below and then she heard Priest of Mara say with surprise, "Veren…Thorek…You're alive!"

One of the voices from her Dreamstride touched Deanne's waking ear. It sneered, "No thanks to you, Casimir."

Casimir…she'd heard that name in the Dreamstride. Vilkas and Priest Erandur had reached the place with the Skull far below her. But the two from her dream who had stayed to guard the Skull…at least one of them was alive and awake.

Deanne heard the surprise in Vilkas' voice. Perhaps at the clear recognition between the various Priests of Divines and Daedra, but more likely hearing Erandur being called by a different name. "You know these two?" he questioned the priest of Mara.

The name had an unpleasant effect on Erandur. After a brief pause, the priest said resolutely, "I no longer use that name. I am Erandur, priest of Mara."

The same voice from the Dreamstride spat, "You're a traitor. You left us to die and then ran before the Miasma took you. You've betrayed us all and every vow you took."

Priest Erandur floundered with an explanation. "I…I was scared. I wasn't ready to sleep—"

"You weren't strong enough to face our Lady and now you've devoted yourself to another. And a Divine at that!" The cultist spat the words with contempt. "You are no brother of ours. And we will not allow you to touch the Skull."

There was such pain in Erandur's voice. "Then you leave me no choice."

Spells cracked and Vilkas let out a roar as he leapt into battle. Deanne was at once thankful and regretful that she could not see what happened below. Beyond identifying who was crying out for pain or rage, she had no idea who as in danger or how or where. She couldn't see! She couldn't help! She was useless!

A sudden thought caused Deanne to bolt up straight and turn her ear quickly to her surroundings. What if someone was using the distraction to sneak up on her? The person who had guided her here, perhaps. But there was nothing. Where was the whispering? Who had been speaking to her? Where were they and why had they brought her here? What could she do for the man and mer fighting below?

Nothing, as it turned out. After a hectic fight that lasted an eternity for the blind woman, both Erandur and Vilkas remained standing.

"Care to explain, priest?" Vilkas demanded, out of breath but alive.

"…Thorek and Varen…They were my friends. My brothers…" He spoke upward and lamented, "Is this punishment for my past? Is it Mara's will to torment me so?" He was not speaking to Deanne. She doubted he even saw her behind the wood framing that covered the opening. At last, the priest said, "It is time. The Skull must be destroyed."

She heard both he and Vilkas ascend the steps to where she remembered the Skull was placed. "Lady Mara," the priest called out. "Grant me the power to break through this barrier and send the Skull back to Oblivion!"

He cast a spell. Deanne both heard and felt it, the air taking on a different texture. The banishment was not immediate it seemed. What was he doing? Would anyone else appear to try and stop him?

"_He is deceiving you." _The whisper had returned. Now it seemed to speak directly into her ear. Deanne jerked and her arm whipped out but found only empty air.

"Who's there?!"

The whisper continued on as if she had carried it with her on her shoulder. _"When the ritual is complete, the Skull will be free and then Erandur will turn on your companion."_

The young woman gasped and turned her attention back to what was happening below. "No…he wouldn't. He brought us here. He…he fought to get down there."

"_He desires the Skull for himself. Stop him now, before he succeeds!"_

Deanne struggled with the information. It couldn't be. He'd brought them here. And even if it were— "…What could I do? Who are you?"

The whisper continued unabashed. "_Raise your hand. I will guide you. He must not be allowed to complete his ritual."_

Quite suddenly, she felt the flames come to life in her palm and lick over her fingers, pulsing and crackling like a living thing. She was startled. She'd never cast a Destruction spell in her life. Now there was fire in her hand!

"_Raise your hand. Quickly. I will help you."_

The young woman hesitated. Was it true? Had Erandur done all of this just to get the Skull for himself? Vilkas hadn't trusted him. What if he'd been right all along? It seemed that the mer hadn't told the whole truth about how involved he'd been with the cult. What if he hurt Vilkas?!

She turned toward the framing. How was she to know where either of them were?

"_Closer. I will guide your spell. He must be slain."_

Deanne stopped and held her flaming hand back. "Wait…who are you?" This wasn't a person. She was alone in the hallway and yet this voice spoke into her ears. "I want to know who you are."

The whisper tried to dodge the question. "_You must save your companion. He will be killed. Is that what you wish?"_

"No…" Deanne summoned up her authority, or at least the semblance of authority, and demanded, "I will know who you are first. Tell me."

The whisper ignored her and sweetened its tone._ "The Skull is powerful. In worthy hands, it will grant a great many things. For you, it will open your eyes to the world once again. I can show you how. But you must kill the priest. You must keep him from banishing the Skull!"_

Deanne's breath caught. The artifact could help her see again? She would be able to see the world again. She hadn't let herself hope for such a thing in so long. And after the taste of sight she'd been given in the Dreamstride… To know what an ocean looked like, not just sounded like. A tundra. Snow. Vilkas. Her own brother. She hadn't seen Marc since they were children. Could…could the Skull really do that?

Her hand lifted toward the framing, and she felt the flame grow more intense of its own accord, someone else kindling magicka in her hand. But she held herself back at the wood that blocked her spell. What if this was a trick? Erandur had wanted to destroy the Skull. He'd said so. He'd killed his friends down below to get to it. The Torpor hadn't worked for him _because_ he was a Priest of Mara now. And before he'd even known she would help, he'd tried to heal her eyes. He was a good mer now. He couldn't be out to use the Skull. He just couldn't.

The whisper's sweetness fractured. _"Cast! Kill him now! Vaermina commands you."_

Deanne's hand snapped back. "…You're a Daedra." Vaermina. It was Vaermina who wanted her to kill Erandur and save the Skull. Deanne's hand closed and she turned her back on the window, blocking the spell in her hand with her own body to keep the Daedra from forcing her to cast it. The Daedra was in her mind. Manipulating the magicka in her veins. And she'd almost let it use her to do something horrible. "No, I won't help you. I won't."

"_He will kill your companion. Then he will kill you. Is that what you wish?!"_

The young woman tried not to shake at how close the Daedra's voice was. Or at how scared she was of what the Daedra would do if she continued to refuse. It had already ignited a Destruction spell in Deanne's hand. What else could it do to her? But she swallowed and managed to say aloud, "I don't trust you. I won't help you. I won't!"

Deanne felt the Daedra's frustration just as something burst in the chamber below. There was a pulse of power outward. Then it stopped…and reversed. As quickly as the energy dispersed, it was sucked back to a single point. There was a strange pop sound and everything went quiet. The sound of the Skull was gone. As were the whispers of the Daedra.

Deanne slumped against the wall, forcing herself to breath after being so close to a Daedric Prince. Down below, Deanne just heard Vilkas say suspiciously, "Is that it?"

Erandur sounded depleted when he replied, "Yes. The Skull is back where it belongs. Mara only knows how long it will be before Vaermina finds a way to send it back into the world. Divines willing, it will not be in our lifetime."

Deanne listened to them walk out of the inner chamber and until they could no longer be heard ascending the steps. Only then did it occur to her that she should be back in the corner where Vilkas had left her. Deanne did not want to tell him what had drawn her to this window. The Daedra was gone, or so she hoped. She would rather not say anything about how she had almost been tricked into killing Priest Erandur.

She walked carefully back along the hallway and around the doorway where she went back to crouching in the corner, listening for the padding of familiar footsteps to come up the hallway. It was a relief to hear Vilkas' heavy treads striding toward her on the stone. And a relief that there was no sign of the whispering again.

When her protector came around the doorway, the first thing out of his mouth was, "You alright, Deanne?"

She smiled gladly at him and stood from her place, reaching out as she approached to find his forearm come up beneath her outstretched palm. Deanne actually sighed with gratitude at the contact. She didn't want to be alone again for a while. Not after the Daedra.

"Is it over?" Deanne asked. She'd heard Priest Erandur banish the Skull. Or she thought she had. But there was no way for her to tell exactly what had occurred.

"Yes," Vilkas assured her. "It's over."

Deanne brought her other hand up and held onto his forearm with both, her head falling with relief. It was over. No more nightmares for Dawnstar. No more fighting or danger for Vilkas and Priest Erandur. No more whispering, manipulating Daedra for Deanne. She expected to feel some sense of accomplishment or pride. But at the end of it all, she just felt drained.

Whatever she'd expected to do, much more had happened. Instead of a brief, if frightening, walk through Dreamstride to bypass the barrier, she'd been taken on an expansive trek that had far overshot her boundaries. She'd seen colors and shapes for the first time in so long. She'd almost lost the Dreamstride in some unknown corner of the world. She'd…seen her father pass. She'd willingly left her brother and walked a strange and dangerous place of wild beasts that she would be only too happy to put from her mind.

But she'd dispelled the magical barrier and allowed Priest Erandur and Vilkas to reach and banish the Skull. The threat was over and done with. Regardless of how right it had been of her to help and how it had all turned out for the best in the end, Deanne was glad it was over. If this was what life was like out in the world, she would prefer to be behind stone walls again, and soon.

"Deanne?" Vilkas questioned, reading her troubled mind though she hadn't meant to share it. "What's wrong?"

The first thought was to tell him about the Daedra. About how it had somehow reached into her and manipulated her magicka. How it had promised the return of her sight if she would be the instrument of Priest Erandur's death. But she was afraid to. She was afraid to admit how close she'd come to doing something unspeakable. How tempting it had been with the promise of returned sight. How easy it would have been to take a life. She wouldn't even have had to see it happen. The Daedra would have done it all for her.

But she couldn't do it.

She shook her head and dredged up something else. Something less shameful. "In the Dreamstride…I could see. I…I'd forgotten what colors looked like."

Despite herself, Deanne's eyes stung. She'd thought she'd set that desire aside long ago. Perhaps she had, but that didn't mean it was gone. Just forgotten until the right pressure point drew it back to the surface and reopened the wound. Dawnstar was saved, but she'd found the potential for darkness in herself. The potential to hurt for personal gain, regardless of by what twisted artifact that gain was achieved by. She had been concerned for Vilkas's safety as well, but that would have been no excuse for killing an innocent.

She'd resisted the manipulations of a Daedric Prince this time. What about the next? Deane prayed she would never be faced with such a trial again.

Vilkas's large hand covered one of hers. "…I'm sorry, little one."

She nodded, choking back her desire to cry. She just wanted to put it all away. The sooner she got to Winterhold and found a routine within those walls, the better.

"A good rest is warranted after such an ordeal," Priest Erandur stated.

Deanne let herself be guided back up the stairs and tried to cast off a bit of her shame and fear on each step. The Skull was banished, Vaermina was gone, Dawnstar was saved and the three of them had come out of it alive. The ordeal was over.

XXX

"No, priest. We'll move faster just the two of us. It's not like you'll do much more than slow us down, anyway. This is the snowy north, after all. Not exactly favorable to anyone but a Nord," Vilkas stated, his tone neutral though his words seemed harsh.

"A healer may be useful in any situation," Priest Erandur retorted. "And I'll have you know I grew up in the Pale. This land has been my home for most of my life. I am no stranger to sleet and snow and freezing temperatures."

"Yeah?" Vilkas said skeptically. "How about mountain trecking?" He didn't wait for a reply. "I'm not discussing this. The less I have to worry about, the sooner we'll get to the College. If I have to keep looking over my shoulder to see if you've broken your neck or fallen behind, that will only slow me down. We'll be fine."

Priest Erandur sighed. "Very well. I am only concerned for your safety. Both of your safeties."

"I'll protect her from whatever's out there. Don't worry yourself over it."

Deanne had appreciated sleeping near a warm fire. But she was ready for them to be on their way. Not because she was at all eager to be out in the cold North again, but because she was anxious to reach her new home and find her brother.

Priest Erandur turned from where Vilkas was securing their belongings for travel and walked the few steps to where Deanne was seated, bundled up and waiting. Vilkas's movements in the background slowed. He was doubtless watching the priest, still distrustful and cautious.

"Child, there is something I would like you to have. Here."

Taking the invitation, Deanne raised her hands to receive whatever it was and found a heavy volume placed into them. She felt a big awkward now. "I—Thank you, Priest Erandur. But…I can't read."

She felt him fluster for a moment. "I don't mean to—I didn't—" He took a firm breath and pressed the book more firmly into her possession, his tone apologetic as he explained, "This is the book detailing the history, concoction, and use of the Dreamstride and Vaermina's Torpor. I found it in the library here in the Temple. I lack the skill to make use of the formula. But perhaps there is someone at the College who can. You were able to see in the Dreamstride. Perhaps the experience might be repeated in the future."

Deanne swelled with gratitude. Her fingers curled around the binding of the book and she held it to her chest. "Thank you, Priest Erandur." The dangers of the Dreamstride rose in her mind, but so too did the treacherous awe she'd felt at simple shapes and colors. She would never be rid of that desire for sight, would she? But maybe…in the future… Deanne lifted her head and smiled at the Priest. "Thank you."

Vilkas's heavy footfalls approached. "I'll just put that away, shall I?" Deanne gave up her little treasure to him. "Doesn't this need Vaermina's, I don't know…favor, to work? It's called Vaermina's Torpor, isn't it?"

"Perhaps," Erandur admitted. "But again, if anyone were to discover a way around such requisites, it would be the mages of the College."

Vilkas grunted and she heard him proceed to shove it inside of their packs.

"What will you do now?" Deanne asked the Priest.

"I will remain here. I will construct a shrine to Mara here in the Temple. My intention was to spend the rest of my days here, burying the past and praying for forgiveness. But the last few days have taught me that some good cannot be done alone. I will meditate on this." He moved slightly and spoke more directly to her, "Perhaps we will see each other again. I have always wanted to see the College of Winterhold. Perhaps I will make the journey in the future."

There was the smallest of sounds from Vilkas. More of a short exhalation. But what expression Deanne could pick up was negative. "Time to go, little one," the warrior said, swinging the bags up onto his back again. "We should get to Winterhold day after tomorrow. The sooner we leave, the sooner we get there."

Deanne nodded and stood up. Soon she was once again clinging to Vilkas's back. And with less floundering during the ascent this time, if she did say so herself.

"Allow me to get the door," Priest Erandur offered.

Vilkas grunted and followed the mer to the exit. Deanne couldn't help the slight squeak when the first gust of frigid air burst into the room, and she tucked herself down against Vilkas's back. Her protector adjusted them both slightly and strode outside.

"Safe travels to you," Erandur bid them as the snow began crunching under Vilkas's foot.

His strides picked up to a jog and they were soon ascending the mountain again, leaving Nightcaller Temple and all that had happened there behind.

Two days to Winterhold. Just two days. Deanne clung to her protector and did her best not to inhibit his movements. She would reach her new home soon. And perhaps find her brother there waiting. Just two more days.

**And they're out of there. Less than two days to Winterhold. What could possibly happen in so short a time? XP**

**Thanks for reading. Leave a review before you go. You guys are keeping a great proportion of reviews to chapters on this one. Thank you!**


	13. Within Glacial Cracks

**I think I hurt my beta with this chapter. Or the ending at least. Which means it's cleared to inflict on my readership. X)) I am diabolical. Enjoy!**

Deanne stopped trying to keep track of their surroundings after a while. It wasn't as though she would ever be able to find her way back this direction again. She noted when their path up the slope turned downward. When the cold winds were blocked and when those winds changed direction. It always seemed icy cold, but Vilkas kept going in spite of anything.

Deanne was a little worried about where they would take shelter tonight, considering how well that had worked out before. But what could she do to help? Her bit of usefulness in the temple did not shroud the fact that she was little more than baggage again. So Deanne clung to his back and kept her face tucked down away from the reach of the elements, trusting Vilkas to find the way.

"We're coming up on the glaciers now," Vilkas informed her.

Deanne peaked her head up. The wind was stronger and blowing from a single direction, but beyond that there was no way for her to identify with what they were approaching. "What is it?" she asked.

"Uh…It's a huge hunk of ice that's a few hundred feet thick and goes for miles all the way out to the sea."

The young woman turned, stretching out her senses to detect what they were coming upon. It was nothing like the ocean. The steady unrelenting wind might indicate that it picked up speed over a long unobscured distance. But it made no sound for her. So, absent a quality that Deanne might discern, she decided she preferred the ocean.

"Are we going over it?"

Vilkas replied. "No, we'll stay to this side. It's summer. Maybe it doesn't seem it, but the temperature's high enough that the ice melts. Not much. But enough. There are big cracks closer to the ocean. Sometimes you'll get big pieces that fall off. Most of the time you come across them after the fact. But if you get caught under one of those when they fall? Or on top?" Deanne tensed up. She didn't need him to paint a scene for her. "Safer if we stay on the landward side of the ice," he finished.

Deanne nodded, though he could hardly see the gesture, and tucked her head down against his back again. She wished for an enclosed place. This big world with huge oceans, enormous glaciers, towering mountains, it was all too big for her. She just wanted to be inside where the dimensions of her world were notable. She could never again forget how big the world outside was, but at least she could have some control of the little world she lived in.

Being perched on Vilkas's back and carried over vast landmarks made her feel very small and uncomfortable. Useless again and easily forgettable. If something were to happen to Vilkas and she was left alone out here, how many people would note her absence? Deanne squeezed her eyes closed and tried to block out the question.

They traveled for a long while. Most of their path was straight and flat. Vilkas kept a constant pace and the wind off to their left never slacked. Nor did the cold for that matter, but Deanne guessed she would need to get used to that. Winterhold was up here in the North, after all. Their path took on a slant at one point and there were slight changes in sound to their right. Perhaps they were closer to the side of an outcrop.

They're path straightened and had angled down slightly when Vilkas paused briefly. He hadn't stopped all day so Deanne lifted her head at the change. At first she remained quiet, trying to pick up whatever had caught his attention. There wasn't a distinct sound anywhere. Was he seeing something then?

"Vilkas?"

Her protector didn't say anything. Instead he seemed to inhale deliberately, like he was smelling something. The Nord turned on the spot and inhaled again, his body taut.

The next second he turned sharply and they were off at a sprint. Deanne bounced on his back, Vilkas's hands tight under her rear.

"Vilkas?"

"Hang on tight, little one. And keep quiet."

She wasn't sure how any sound she made could be heard over the constant rush of wind. Then the rush diminished significantly. The crunch of Vilkas's footsteps in the snow began bouncing off walls to their right and left. Walls that grew progressively higher. He slid abruptly at one point and Deanne let out an unintended squeak. That squeak echoed and rebounded and spread forward and behind them, every trace of every sound amplified. The Imperial kept her mouth shut after that.

Vilkas ran stretches, turned at angles and ran again. The walls around them grew, shrank, vanished, and reappeared. Where were they going? Where were they at all?

She felt him looking around after a while, although it barely slowed his pace. Then he veered off and she found their surroundings become very close in quarter. He dropped his support underneath her and shimmied Deanne down off his back.

"Vilkas, what's—"

"Shhh!" He hissed, then took her shoulders and urged her a few steps up against an icy wall. "Over here." The warrior sat her down. She looked up toward him fearfully as he removed the packs from his back and dropped them beside her.

She held off as long as she could before the question burst forth. "Vilkas, what's going on?"

"Someone's following us," he said, moving the packs close around her. Perhaps for some additional insulation. "Listen to me," he whispered, careful to lower his voice so as not to cause an echo. "I need you to stay here. Don't move and don't make a sound. I'm going to go take care of them and then come right back."

"Who are they?" she whispered back.

"I don't know."

"What if you don't come back?!" How could he know if he could defeat them if he didn't know who they were?

Vilkas's softened his hard tone and reassured her, "I will come back."

He reached out to squeeze her forearm and Deanne took the opportunity to wrap her hands around his in return. "I don't want you to go." What if he didn't come back? What if they killed him?

He covered her hands with one of his and said again, "I will come back. If I don't go to meet them, they'll catch up to us. And I'll have a better chance if I don't have to worry about you in the fight. Understand?"

Deanne quivered at the thought of more bloodshed. Of the screams and death of a battle like in the massacre of the bandits' cave. Of Vilkas being among the voices in agony. But she nodded anyway and let him slip from her grasp. To some surprise, he took her face between his palms and said again, "I _will_ come back."

She swallowed with difficulty and her head jerked up and down, the tiniest sound of affirmation escaping her throat.

He let go and tucked the packs closer to her. "Stay here. Don't make a sound and they won't find you. I'll be back once I've taken care of them." He stood and walked toward the entrance of whatever little cavern of space he'd tucked her into.

"Be careful," she said hurriedly, closing her mouth when the words were amplified by the walls enclosing her.

Then the entrance space he'd been blocking was empty and he was gone.

Deanne sat very still, her whole body tight with fear. It was hard not to imagine the worst that he was walking into. A hoard of angry orcs. Mercenaries. Trolls. Ogres! Giants! But maybe it was nothing. Maybe there was no one following them. Maybe it was just a mistake. Some monks or merchants that Vilkas had mistakenly thought were a threat. Those best-case scenarios were fleeting and she was soon imagining him walking into an army of angry bandits who wanted his head.

She pulled the tops of the bags up to her shoulders and tried to make herself as small as possible, counting the seconds and straining to hear his footsteps returning.

The wind rushed steadily, though not vigorously, in through the opening to the outside. The sounds in the chamber told her it was perhaps as big as the room at the inn, although it would take walking the perimeter to know the exact shape.

But Deanne didn't move. She just waited and listened.

Then there were footsteps. Deanne sat up, heart in her throat, waiting for Vilkas to walk in and tell her everything was alright.

…except there was another set. And a pair of strange voices. Then the barking of dogs.

"—somewhere around here."

Deanne throttled any sound of fear and curled up tight, pulling the packs back up her shoulders, willing herself to disappear. '_Vilkas. They're here. Where are you?_'

She strained to follow their movements, praying they would pass her by and that they hadn't hurt Vilkas. The sound of dogs got louder. She heard them sniffing. Then she jumped when one of them barked and the sound shot straight into her cavern, the whole space ringing with the sound.

"Over here!" someone shouted. The footsteps came closer. Then she heard herself be discovered. "We've got someone!"

As those footsteps drew near, multiplied and entered, Deanne drove her heels into the ground and shoved herself against the wall as if she might pass through and escape. Two dogs were the first to surround her, growling fiercely. She didn't have to see them to know that they bared their teeth and seethed aggression. The men were not far behind.

"Lycan?"

"Dogs aren't responding. Zip! Bain! _Seek_!" The dogs moved, sniffing around, growling, then they each barked twice. "He's been here. She's not one, though."

"One set of tracks. Why in Oblivion is he carrying her around?"

"His mate?"

"Or his next meal. Doesn't matter. He'll be back for 'er."

Three men. One woman.

Through the fog of her fear, Deanne found her voice. "Who are you? What do you want?" With the high pitch and breathy delivery, there was no hiding her terror at what was happening.

"I'll ask the questions," one of the men snapped. He strode forward and she was dragged up as harshly as when the bandits had gripped her. And the fear now was no less. "Where is he?" he roared into her ear. Deanne flinched and tried to squirm free. The monster of a man wouldn't allow it and shook her hard. "Where's the beast?!"

"What? I don't know. I don't understand," Deanne insisted. The fear drove tears out of her eyes and sent them skiing down her cheeks. "Who are you?"

"He couldn't have gone far," one of the others commented. "One of us could stay. Sit on the female while the others track him out?"

The one who gripped her sneered cruelly, "You're right. He can't 'ave gone far. But I've got a better idea."

Deanne yelped as he ripped the clasp of her cloak free and threw it off of her, then tore her sleeves open, exposing her bare arm. She struggled immediately, terrified that these people might finish what the bandits from the cave had started. But instead of tearing at the rest of her garments, he grabbed her forearm firmly in both hands.

"Cover the entrance," he snapped behind him. Then to her he growled, "Now you're gonna scream real loud. Understand me? Like your life depends on it. 'Cause it does. Hear me?"

"What? I don't— Let me go—! _Ah_!" She cried out as he began twisting the limb in his grip so hard that she felt the bones begin to bend. The outcry gave way to high pitched whimpers. And apparently not what he wanted.

"Scream!" he demanded.

She whimpered, trying to think of any way to make the pain stop. "There's money! Money in the pack. Just stop, please!"

"I said 'scream'. Scream for the beast!"

"What are you talking—!? Let me go! Please!"

The woman among them commented, "I don't think she knows."

Another of the group scoffed, his face turned toward the entrance. "Of course she knows. Don't be stupid."

The one holding her twisted her arm again and the high pitched whimpers returned. Her captor spat a curse and let one hand go only to draw a dagger from a sheath. He yanked the hood of her robe down and put the sharpened edge to her throat. "Now scream, you little bitch, or I'll start cutting!"

Her terror built, her breaths became fast and her head felt light. She couldn't make a sound. She couldn't speak. She couldn't think—

A sound broke through her senses. A feral sound that echoed up from somewhere outside the chamber and far down a walled passage.

As the dogs started barking, the pressure of the blade lessened and the man turned toward the entrance. "There we go." He sounded pleased. Deanne was tossed down atop her packs and he snapped orders, "Ready up! He's comin' back for her. Llagus, in the corner. You take the first shot you see. Rest of you, weapons out. Don't give him a chance to maneuver."

Deanne struggled to sit up. Coming back? Vilkas! They were after Vilkas!

The people found positions around the chamber. The dogs growled. All of their attention focused at the single entrance. "Here he comes!"

She had to do something! Deanne struggled up and yelled as loud as she could, "Vilkas, don't! _They're waiting!"_

Something rushed into the chamber…but it wasn't Vilkas.

The dogs attacked even as an arrow was loosed from one of the chamber to the other. She heard the projectile bury itself in the monster as the hounds snapped and snarled at it. There was a roar and an impact, and one of the dogs yelped in pain as it hit the chamber wall. The monster that had arrived bellowed as it was charged by the people, but they weren't fast enough to save the other dog who yowled with the sickening crack of bones.

Deanne toppled back and scrambled over the packs away from the terrible fight. She knew those sounds. Those monstrous, horrible, terrifying sounds. They'd been in the cave. They'd been amidst the screams of dying bandits. They'd been issued over her as she cowered beneath a useless bedframe. This was the same monster that had been there in the bandits' cave. And it had found her again!

The people attacked, somehow having better luck against the thing than the bandits who had tried before. She heard the battle unfold. There were shouts, but few of pain. There were snarls and angry bestial exertions, but more impacts with metal and leather than strikes of teeth into flesh. One of the people fell. Before the monster could end him one of the others attacked and the creature roared in pain. Yet it didn't seem to slow it down. The offending warrior was struck and thrown like the hound.

The one who had threatened her yelled out, drawing the creature's attention. "Come at me, beast. I knew you'd come back. Have at me, then, and taste my silver!"

The monster snarled, but did not make for him directly, as if it knew it was being goaded. Deanne didn't know who to pray would win this battle. The monster had bested the bandits, but these fighters seemed more able and prepared. But what trust could she put in them were they the ones to come out alive? Where was Vilkas? What if he came back in the middle of all this? What if he didn't? She still didn't know how she had escaped this monster the first time so how could she hope for such luck a second time? She only knew that she'd fainted and Vilkas had been there when she awoke—

As the beast finally engaged the leader, Deanne's mind spawned the strangest connections. She'd fainted before the beast and Vilkas had been there at her waking, yet surprised and apologetic about his state and their proximity.

The leader had demanded she call 'the beast'. He was calling this monster 'beast'.

They'd said 'he' would come back for her. She'd thought they'd meant Vilkas. But now the monster was here.

The same monster from the bandits' cave…

And these people seemed to have been expecting it…

These things circled the single connecting thought. The only thing that made sense and fit all the pieces together. But a thing that couldn't be true. Couldn't be possible…

The monster was Vilkas.

The leader yelled as the monster got a hold of him. There was some struggle, the monster made a sound of pain but still reduced the leader's sounds to gurgles and finally to silence.

Vilkas was the monster.

There was a faint sound of a bow's release and an arrow clicked off a wall. The beast snarled but was confronted by one of the other two close quarter fighters before he could make a move on the archer.

"You animal, I'll have your hide!" the woman yelled.

The monster was Vilkas. It couldn't be true. It wasn't possible. But the statement rang as clear and unapologetic as could be: this monster was Vilkas.

As the last surviving hound tried to assist in the fight and the woman warrior held off the monster that was Vilkas, Deanne heard the archer mutter, "Come on. Come on. Show me your back. Just one shot. Come on."

He was going to shoot Vilkas.

No! She couldn't let him!

Without thinking, Deanne scrambled up and pelted the distance toward the archer's voice, slamming into him unexpectedly for either of them. They hit the ground, Deanne pawing for the bow, even just to hit it away. The archer struck her and threw her off of him. Before she knew it, his hands were around her throat. "You bitch, you _are_ with him!"

Deanne struggled, clawing at his wrists as he squeezed off her airway. She gasped and fought, unable to do anything against his superior weight and position. Her struggles weakened and her senses faded with every second.

The archer was plucked off of her and Deanne desperately dragged in as deep a breath as she could take. Her assailant screamed as she heard him shaken violently, something wet splattering across Deanne's face and hands. The monster slammed the archer down and took a decisive bite, then he flung the body across the chamber. Someone grunting on impact and the monster dove after the sound with a roar to finish what remained of the people who'd been set to kill him here.

Deanne moved slowly, rolling partly to her side and reaching up to her throat. It ached. She expected there would be bruising. But she had bigger things to worry about.

The only sounds that remained now were those of the monster…of Vilkas. With no more people left to fight, he was doing as he'd done before: consuming the dead. The same snaps and wet tearing from the bandits' cave now echoed in this little chamber.

Deanne sat up carefully, praying not to attract his attention. Vilkas had been the monster all along. He'd taken care of her all this way. But she had no idea what kept him from killing her the first time or if it would hold true now. She heard him burying his jaws in the bodies of the dead. What would happen when he was finished? Would he remember her? Would he turn on her? She didn't know. How could she?

The same truth she'd faced in the cave stood before her now: she needed him. She needed Vilkas. If he left her, she was going to die. She couldn't make it to Winterhold alone. Man or beast, she needed him.

The young woman got shakily to her feet. The monster—Vilkas, continued eating. What if he didn't know her when he was like this? What if he just saw food? But a worse question than that, what if he left her while he was like this? Would he come back? After how long? Would he lose track of where she was? Would he recall himself and what he'd promised to her? Deanne was more frightened of him vanishing than of facing him like he was now. More frightened of being left alone in the world than killed quickly by a feral beast.

He had to remember her. He just had to.

"Vi-" Her breath broke in the first syllable, the damage to her throat making an appearance. She tried to clear it, with some pain, and tried again. "Vilkas?" She received no response, so absorbed was he in the meal. Deanne had to take a few deep breaths before she tried again, this time speaking loud enough her voice echoed in the enclosed space. "Vilkas."

The monster stopped on a septim and she heard him snap around to face her with a snarl. Fear gripped her and she stood very still, praying he would not attack her. Maybe she should have stayed down on the ground before calling his attention.

But he didn't move. Every breath carried a brief growl on the end that reverberated against the walls and surrounded them both. But he did not attack her.

Deanne needed to swallow before she could say his name again. "Vilkas. That is you…isn't it?" There was no change. His attention remained on her but with no sign of recognition. "Vilkas, do you remember me? Deanne. You're helping me get to Winterhold. Remember?" He shifted and sniffed. Did he remember her? Was he trying to?

"Vilkas," she repeated, praying his name would spark something. "Vilkas." And she took a careful step toward him.

The monster splayed his feet in the shallow snow layer and snarled angrily at her movement. Deanne froze on the spot, not even daring to retreat, her heart pounding in her chest. They returned to the previous status quo: she standing still, him breathing with rapt attention.

By the Eight, she needed to make contact. Gods above, what was she thinking? There was no evidence he was anything but an animal now. No sign that he knew her. That he would do anything besides tear her apart if she provoked him further.

But she needed him. She had to believe that, somewhere in this beast, Vilkas knew her. She just had to.

Gathering her courage, Deanne took the bravest action in her life and passed weight to the foot in front of her. And then took another slow step towards his breathing. "Vilkas. It's me. It's Deanne. You promised to help me. Please remember. Please. I need your help."

She kept talking, pleading softly, saying his name over and over. The snarl rose slowly in his throat as she approached, but she didn't stop. She couldn't stop.

"Vilkas. They're gone. You took care of them, just like you said you would. Everything's fine now. Vilkas."

She lifted her hand with the next step, reaching out toward him though she couldn't keep it from shaking violently. Could animals smell fear? She must reek of it. Did that make it more or less likely that he would snap and kill her?

"Vilkas?"

Another step, with hand outstretched, his snarl sounding much closer than seemed possible. She made physical contact. Her fingers just barely touched him but it was a shock to both of them. The snarl leapt in volume briefly and he jerked back while Deanne just jumped. But then there was no movement. They held like that and the breathed snarl took up its previous volume, with what must be bare inches between her hand and him. Whatever courage or madness filled her, Deanne reached again. She took no step but leaned toward him, her hand still shaking, apprehensive but determined to make contact.

When her fingers brushed him this time, the snarl rose in volume but he did not move. She took the chance and brushed her fingers over what she'd found. It was the lower jaw of his muzzle, the hair wet and slightly matted. Deanne didn't dare to think about what soaked his fur and continued to stroke those two inches of jawline, speaking gently to him and saying his name.

He didn't move and gradually, the snarl diminished. Deanne dared to move a few inches closer to reach more of his jaw. Her fingers caught part of his lip once, brushing over teeth that were not human. She locked the burst of fear away and kept her exterior very, very calm.

"It's okay, Vilkas. Everything is okay."

The snarl decreased and his head lowered a few inches. He was calming. Deanne took another half step forward and stretched her hand forward to include some of his neck with each motion, running her hand over his fur.

Vilkas the beast towered over her with even more height and mass than he had as a man, if that was possible. The heat of his breath and the smell of his kills wafting past her skin and welled up into her nose. Deanne deliberately put that out of her mind and focused on the fact that this was the man who had protected her all this time. The one who had saved her and kept her safe. Who had been so careful and accommodating of her disability.

"It's alright. We're alright now."

Perhaps the words got through or perhaps he just took the reassurance of her tone, but Vilkas's head dropped and he sniffed at her. Deanne stayed where she was, continuing to pet him without pause and able to reach further as he bent down. The snarl was gone now. Deanne actually felt safe enough to take a full breath.

Vilkas extended his head forward, his nose brushing her abdomen with his next sniff. She felt the wetness on his muzzle soak into the fabric as contact was made. Then he nosed her deliberately, shoving his enormous head against her stomach. He had a great deal of force and power behind his movements and Deanne was unprepared. She was driven a step backward and lost her footing, promptly landing on her rear. Hard; the thin layer of snow doing nothing to cushion the impact.

Vilkas followed her down, staying in contact with her even when she fell. She heard him plant his hands on either side of her, whereupon he flopped down onto the ground with her. Vilkas drove his muzzle and head against her hip and abdomen, his shoulders crowding her lap and their weight partly overlaying her legs. He tucked his arms in and nuzzled harder against her, scooting her a few inches backwards and then became still.

Deanne sat there, back straight, very tense, with this enormous man turned beast effectively curled up on her lap and completely at a loss as to what to do next.

**So, are you in pain? Well you'll just have to come back next chapter for the antidote. Until then, enjoy the suffering! It's what good stories are made of.**


	14. To Heal and Hurt

**Welcome back. Read and enjoy!**

Even laying as he was, Deanne felt dwarfed by Vilkas where he was sprawled over her. The weight and heft of his head against her abdomen alone shortened her lung capacity. And his torso was quickly causing her legs to go numb. She tried to swivel her knees a little out from under him, or at least into a more comfortable position. The man turned beast responded to circumvent her efforts, shifting slightly onto his side and leaning more so on top of her with a low throaty grumble. Deanne felt his throat work as he swallowed and she was left even more pinned than before.

The sound of each breath and the subsequent expansion of his torso reminded her again and again how massive he was. He could easily tear her apart. But he hadn't. Either now or in the bandit cave. And he didn't seem violently inclined at this moment. Still, she didn't want to chance upsetting him by trying to squirm free of his weight. His body was hot, so at least she was not to freeze here.

So Deanne tried to keep calm and still. It was a little while before she had the courage to reach up and touch him deliberately again. Vilkas didn't make a move when she did so Deanne proceeded to run her hand over his back. His coat was thick, made for traipsing around in the northern elements no doubt, but not altogether coarse. It actually had a nice texture. Not itchy, so she didn't mind the contact. Neither did he, it seemed.

On one pass, the tip of her fingers brushed ragged flesh. She reached again deliberately and found a wound, her mind immediately swelling with concern. "Vilkas, you're hurt."

Whether it was because he didn't comprehend her or didn't care, Vilkas did not react beyond an involuntary twitch of his muscles when she found the wound.

How many other wounds did he have that she didn't know about? It wasn't as though she could ask him. But open wounds couldn't be left untreated. He could be bleeding profusely somewhere else? What if he was? What if he bleed out right here? Deanne thought hurriedly. The packs were against the chamber wall several feet away. Maybe Vilkas would let her up to get them. But she'd still have to find his hurts and he might not respond well to that in this frame of mind.

There was something else she could do. But Deanne was even more hesitant to attempt that. Vilkas was Nordic. And Nords didn't like magic. And she had never tried to cast a spell like this by herself before. But she had to do something for him.

Deanne swallowed. "Vilkas…I'm going to try and help you. Just…just stay like you are, please."

The woman leaned forward and stretched to place her hands directly over the wound. The spell was supposed to reach the whole body no matter where contact was made, but she wanted to make sure.

She felt for the magicka within her, a glowing well of energy at her center. She willed it into a restorative form before letting it flow through her arms and out to her hands. This was usually where the priest she was assisting would take her hand and pool their magicka, then manage the task of directing it into whatever hurt their patient had. But she was on her own here. She would have to find his wounds and heal them herself.

Deanne let the energy flow from her body into his. Vilkas jerked in surprise and his forehead bumped slightly against her elbow with the lifting of his head.

"It's alright, Vilkas. This is just to help. I promise."

She had to focus on what she was doing, but Vilkas was paying curious attention now. Deanne felt the energy pass between them. Though she'd never been trusted with a healing on her own, the healers had talked to her before about what they did. She couldn't direct her spell to any specific wound without knowing where they were, but she could follow the body's energy to where it was trying to heal itself, a trail drawn by his own internal life-force.

Deanne poured her consciousness after that flow, reaching into his body to find where there were places damaged or missing. The immediate wound was a good guide. She felt the frayed ends of flesh that were supposed to be knit into the rest and the life-force that his body was already pouring into the area as it tried to heal itself. Deanne didn't need to actually knit the flesh together, she just had to give his body the extra energy to do it itself. Living bodies already knew what to do to sustain themselves, most often they only needed help.

Magicka was a very potent additive. Vilkas's system drank it up, mending what lived and severing resources to the parts that could not be salvaged. With the first wound on its way, she reached further. This part felt odd. Deanne's consciousness flowed along with the energy of his body, trying to find more areas that felt like the first: disrupted and demanding of the body's resources. Some were minor, others more significant, none of them seemed life threatening, thank the Eight. Deanne focused on devoting her magicka to the more demanding areas.

Too soon that magicka began to fade. She was healing someone by herself for the first time and did not have a great deal of schooling in magic, nor was her magicka pool very large, not having been exercised or developed. But Deanne gave all that she had until she was depleted. There was still healing to be done, but at least a portion had been taken care of and his system had a good head start on it. Although she wouldn't be casting anything again for a while.

When Deanne's mind came out of the spell, Vilkas's head was once again heavy on her lap. Apparently he hadn't felt much in the way of distress over her casting so he hadn't moved. Deanne herself was exhausted. Casting like that on her own was much more difficult than she thought it would be. But he wasn't bothered by the act and was at least partly better as a result. That made the effort worth it.

Deanne slumped forward slightly, leaving her hands where they were draped over his shoulders and feeling satisfied if unfit to move. It was extremely tempting to doze off, except that at least one of them should remain alert in case something else happened.

That was when she heard the first crack.

Deanne might have thought it was from the ice around her, except that there was a discernible jerk of the body she touched and the creature himself groaned in response.

"Vilkas?"

There was another crack and this time part of his body buckle beneath her hands.

"Vilkas?!" Oh Divines, what had she done!?

She didn't know what was happening or how to stop it! The sounds quickly increased in volume and frequency. Vilkas squirmed and contorted, whimpering and whining for discomfort and pain. Deanne, still partly pinned beneath him, was subjected to the pressure wrought by his body's movements. As Vilkas writhed he rolled into her, shoving her back in the snow and shortening her breath.

His body itself was contorting. Deanne felt his bones jerk and realign, his muscles ripple unnaturally. His hair began coming off against her as he whined. All she could do was hold on and talk to him as tears of helplessness were driven from her eyes. Deanne did her best to reassure him that everything would be alright even if she had no idea what was even happening.

Gradually his sounds began to lose their bestial quality. He was becoming human? His body shed itself of the thick coat, his muscles and his frame contracted. There was a final very human sounding groan and Vilkas utterly collapsed where he lay, breathing hard into her clothing and very much the man she'd know him as.

Deanne was less hesitant to reach out and touch him now. She ran her hands over his back, trying to detect if the change had hurt him further. But, no. There were only the wounds she had begun to heal, still present but no worse for…whatever had just happened.

She sat back with relief. His head was still upon her lap, human now and no longer possessed of the protuberant jaws. He breathed normally. He didn't make any sounds of pain. Thank the Eight. Deanne laid her hands on his head, brushing his hair back from where it was cast about his face. She'd never been as scared as just now. Not even with the bandits or with these people who'd tracked them to this crevice. Vilkas had been right here, well within reach, with something terrible befalling him and she could do _nothing_! Helpless didn't even begin to describe what had overtaken her. But it was alright now. Everything was alright now.

Vilkas didn't stir. His…transformation must have taken a great deal out of him. Deanne didn't want to wake the man before his time and took to brushing any stray hairs of his coat off of his now bare shoulders. Vilkas shuddered at one point and curled his legs and arms in as if to contain his own warmth. Divines, he was naked! Naked in the snow in the frigid North. Even for a Nord, that could not be good. Deanne thought quickly. The cloak was over on the packs where the leader of their attackers had torn it from her. She wasn't even sure in exactly what direction that was. And she didn't want to leave him.

The woman thought hurriedly and then pulled loose the ties of her robe. She shrugged the garment off of her shoulders and tugged the sides out from beneath his head, then did her best to cast it over his body. Hopefully it reached far enough. But how much would that even help? He was still laying on the snow. Maybe if she got up and found the sleeping pallet amongst the packs, she could get him onto it. But how was she to move him? How long would he sleep? How likely was it that he would wake before freezing to death? Was it possible to heal someone of being cold? When would she even have the magicka to attempt it?

However long Deanne spent puzzling over all of it, before she could decide on a course of action, Vilkas shifted toward her and made a sound of groggy wakefulness. Deanne listened keenly as he came out of the stupor the transformation had left him in.

"Ugh…" His head rolled on her lap and she heard one of his hands slide through the snow to her left to brace as he tried to rise. Vilkas lifted some of his weight off her legs. "…Deanne?"

"I'm here," she said. He sounded confused. How much did he remember? Did being the creature cloud his mind?

Vilkas groaned again as he lifted himself up and back onto his haunches, the heat and weight of him disappearing. "I…" He suddenly gasped and scrambled to his feet, taking several steps away from her.

Deanne sat up and turned toward him. "Vilkas?" He didn't move. Or speak. But he breathed like one anxious. Was he seeing the cave and the dead? Was he seeing himself naked and likely bloody? Was he seeing her and was perhaps realizing where he'd been? Was he remembering? It must have been very difficult because the Nord was shocked. Maybe he didn't know what happened when he turned into that creature.

"Are you hurt?" His voice was smaller than she'd ever heard him from him.

"No, I'm fine," Deanne reassured him. Her throat was a bit sore from being choked, but she suspected saying so might well spook him. And it hadn't been Vilkas's doing in the first place.

The quiet stretched out again, his breathing barely discernible and the only sign he was still in the crevice.

"Vilkas?" she asked again, concerned for him.

He still said nothing. Deanne listened, attentive to any sign or movement to tell her what he was thinking or feeling, remaining still.

The robe around his shoulders shifted. There were a few false starts. She felt him steel himself. "Deanne..." He trailed off and she waited patiently. The whistling across the crevice's entrance did not mask the deep breath he took.

"Deanne…I won't hurt you," he said, the words seeming both an apology and a promise. He _did_ know what had happened.

The young woman could only think of one thing to say in response. "I know."

And she did. It was odd. The creature was the singularly most frightening thing she'd ever been exposed to in her life. But she had twice been at the creature's mercy and come out unscathed. Vilkas had had ample opportunities to do her harm, and had not. That was proof enough for her.

But, for whatever reason, her reply garnered ire. Vilkas exhaled harshly and turned to take a few steps. Deanne raised herself to her knees, ready to stand and approach him. "Vilkas?"

"Don't," he said curtly. She stopped her ascent and lowered herself slowly back onto her knees. Another stretch of quiet. There was little sound from him, but what she heard told her he was…irritated? Frustrated?

Keeping her place this time, Deanne repeated, "Vilkas?" She couldn't know what he was thinking or feeling unless he spoke to her.

He turned on his heel and retraced his steps. By some movement of fabric, Deanne deduced that he was beside their packs. The Nord was quick to walk back over to her and she felt both the robe and her cloak dropped around her shoulders. Without saying another word he went back to the packs and about pulling something from them.

Deanne waited, holding her layers close, interpreting the sounds of moving fabric to be him dressing.

She waited as long as she could manage, but his continued silence was worrying her. "Vilkas."

The movement paused. And stretched on. Almost long enough to break her normally lasting patience. What was bothering him? Why wouldn't he talk to her?

"I'm going for my sword and armor," he said flatly, all emotion gone from his voice. "You're going to stay here. When I come back, we'll leave. I'm getting you to Winterhold…tonight."

XXX

Vilkas wasn't keeping a constant pace this time. He was going as fast as he possibly could. Sprinting, leaping over obstacles, skidding through the snow often and fast enough to keep Deanne's heart perpetually in her throat. They hadn't spoken since Vilkas had gone for his armor. The attempts she'd made to communicate after he'd returned had been shut down and now there was no opportunity to talk.

They left the high echoing walls behind quickly and were soon traveling through the gusting winds again. Things got horribly cold as night fell, but Vilkas just kept going. He seemed intent on reaching their destination no matter what. Deanne could only hold on.

It was a long while through the cold of night. She'd lost track of the time. Their path began taking them up and up and up, stone blockages building against the wind on either side of them. Vilkas's steps slowed as they reached a peak and he exhaled with gratification.

"Almost there, little one."

He stepped forward and they went down, having crested whatever path they were traveling. No sooner had the path leveled out at the bottom, Deanne heard them pass between two wooden structures. An abrupt left turn and the snow became an icy path beneath his feet. Their pace slowed and Vilkas looked around. Then his footsteps changed, his steps striking on what was most certainly stone. Even exhausted as she was from the night of travel, Deanne forced herself to account for the path, the side guards and a structure that they passed beneath when the incline leveled out.

The wind was all around them at this point. They must be up on an elevated path? Deanne heard the rushing of magicka when Vilkas turned a corner. There was another such rushing at the next as well. A long straight stretch, one final incline and Vilkas came to a stop following a last point of rushing magicka.

There was a building before them. Much like Nightcaller Temple, she heard it breaking the wind before it. Although there seemed to be much more wind to break here than in Dawnstar.

She raised herself up a bit and turned her head forward. "Is this it?" Had they reached the College?

Instead of answering, Vilkas took a step forward and banged hard on a metal gate. Deanne jumped at the unexpected sound.

"Hoi!" he shouted, almost rattling his armor with the force of his voice. Next he grabbed onto the gate and Deanne felt his whole body go into shaking it hard, producing as great a sound as when he had struck it. "_Hoi_!" Vilkas roared again. But there seemed to be no response.

The support beneath her rear vanished and Deanne was lowered to stand on the ground. Once she stood on her own, Vilkas stepped back up to the gate and went about trying to get it open.

Deanne took a step back to give him space. The step brought her in contact with the stone side guard. It was frigidly cold when she placed a hand upon it, the height of it coming just up to her chest. Curiously, she leaned over the side and received a blast of wind from below. She drew back quickly. That must be quite a height.

The rush of magicka drew her attention next while Vilkas continued to strain and fuss with the gate. Deanne put her hands out and stepped toward the rushing sound. She found another stone wall, slightly lower than the outer one. Running her hands along the edge, she found it to be circular. Perhaps a few feet in diameter. And, upon reaching in, the stone turned out to be a well of sorts. The liquid inside was what produced the rushing. Well…the product of the liquid.

However it was happening, there was a steady stream upward of…not wind, but magicka that felt like wind. She didn't know if this was the intent or just the product of something else, but it felt pleasant as she ran her fingers through the flow. The warmth of the magic twisted and wove around her hand. Maybe she would get the chance to ask someone here about it.

The gate was still steadfastly closed, so Deanne chose to dip her fingers into the substance of the well. It was like molten magicka buzzing against her skin, sending strange vibrations all the way to her bones. It felt lovely.

There was a sound of someone from beyond the gate. "You there!" A woman, severe and proper and haughty. Vilkas growled but no longer aggressed the gate. She reached them, although there was no sign of the door opening.

Before the woman could say another word, Vilkas demanded, "I need to speak to whoever's in charge."

His aggression did not go over well with the woman beyond the gate. "You may speak to me."

"And who are you?"

"Faralda, magister of the College of Winterhold," was the reply. "Whatever you have to say, you may say to me. I'll see to it your message is passed along." By the way she said it, Deanne doubted she'd pass any message, just to spite the Nord.

Vilkas growled, "I want someone in charge. It's important."

Deanne heard the woman harden to his words. "I don't care what you think is important. The College is a safe haven for magic users. Whatever grievance or bigotry you've come to spout, you may do so here. But be warned, I am a master of the Destructive school. And I would sooner destroy you than permit you within these walls."

Deanne heard Vilkas building up for what might well be a physical attack on the gate. She hurried forward and wrapped her hand around the first part of him she found, his arm. "Vilkas, please. This isn't helping." The sense in her words stilled him briefly. She took the opportunity to step in front of him and try to take charge of the situation, even if it meant speaking with this clearly formidable woman.

"My name is Deanne. I was sent here from Skingrad by my father. He studied under Tolfdir. They were friends. I was told I would be allowed to stay here." She sent a prayer up to the Divines that this woman knew she was coming.

"Hm…I recall hearing something about that." The woman's harsh voice was now surprisingly gentle. "I was under the impression there would be two of you."

Deanne flinched slightly. "There were. But my brother and I were separated on the way here. I…I was hoping he would be waiting."

The woman Faralda seemed became genuinely sympathetic. "You are the first new arrival in some time."

Deanne felt the urge to deflate, but didn't dare. She needed to be strong until she was certain they would allow her to stay. "Would you please get Tolfdir? I…I don't have the letter he sent, but I'm sure he'll remember my father—"

"There is no need," the woman cut her off. "I know you are expected. Actually, Tolfdir is more likely to be the one to forget. He spoke of your father. You are most welcome here." There was a pause and some of the harshness returned. "You're companion, on the other hand…"

Deanne insisted, "He saved me on the road. I never would have gotten here without him—"

"It's fine," Vilkas said. He shifted with the packs and one of them dropped from his shoulder. "I just wanted to make sure she got here alright. You're gonna make sure she's got a place here, right?"

"Of course. We take care of our own here."

Vilkas grunted and placed the strap of her bag into Deanne's palm. "Here." She took the weight of her belongings and held it to her. Vilkas was quick to turn and begin walking back down the path.

Deanne stood nonplussed. Was that all? "Vilkas." She just heard his footsteps stop in the unceasing wind. "Thank you. Thank you for everything. Truly."

She began to wonder if he would respond at all when he said, "Well…just take care of yourself."

The woman nodded. "I will."

He began walking again and he was soon lost to her. Was that all, then? He'd carried her so far, he'd been so considerate and kind to her. But here at the end…he left without even a 'goodbye'. Had she done something wrong?

The gate behind her sang as it opened. "Come along. Let's get you settled."

Deanne turned from her vanished protector and walked toward the now open entrance of the College, entering what was to be her new home with a weight on her heart.

**Yes! I wanted to get Deanne to the College before I set this story aside. Well...not set it aside. But not have it right in front of me. Ok, so yeah, there it is. she made it. She's within the walls. As if updates weren't slow already, they'll be slower now as I go back to my Wolf of Cyrodiil (which has been growing moss)... But what do you really care about my mental creativity drama? You just want me to put out...so to speak.**

**...I'm going to stop now.**

**Read, review, try to forget my slight stress break. X) Thanks for keeping up with me.**


	15. A Place to Call Home

**OKAY! I'm picking this back up again (at least until I have a computer with enough 'umph!' to handle Dragon Age: Inquisition. Eeeeeee! So excited!). ****For those of you returning, we'll pick it up right at Deanne's arrival. For those of you just coming up through the chapters...well, we're continuing straight after the last chapter. Sort of...duh, but... Oh, whatever. Let's just get on with it!**

**Per poll results, we're going to see Deanne as she develops at the College. A HUGE thank you to those of you who deigned to express your opinion. Much appreciated and here is your reward.**

The biting winds were greatly reduced within the gate, almost as though there was something more than metal to the entryway. The woman closed the gate for her, securing it shut before addressing Deanne.

"I understand one of you was to be blind. Is that you?"

"…Yes, ma'am," Deanne replied.

"Well we have two rooms prepared in the Hall of Attainment. Whenever your brother arrives he'll have somewhere to stay as well. Come with me."

Deanne was guided off to the left of the gateway and was soon brought indoors. The chamber was remarkably warm compared to outside, and the same rushing sound that had punctuated the path up to the College dominated the center here. It bounced off of the walls, but in so many directions and off of such a multitude of angles and faces that it defied Deanne's attempt to discern the chamber's shape.

"I believe… Yes." Faralda guided Deanne to the right. "This room was set aside for you. If you will wait here, I will get Mirabelle. She should know you've arrived."

Deanne was left standing at the door as Faralda walked off to fetch…whoever she was going to. The young woman felt terribly out of place. This was a college for mages. She felt like less here than she did out in the open world. At least there, her knowing a bit of healing might be worth something. But at the College? Her level of skill in that single school was probably common. Mediocre even.

She finally brought herself to reach out and find the door-frame she'd been left in. Perhaps she could investigate where she was to stay, at least. This was to be her room, after all. And what would the mage think if she returned to find Deanne hadn't moved from the doorway?

Feeling her way within, Deanne immediately stubbed her toe on a table just inside. She choked down a yelp and proceeded to knock over a vase sitting atop the table. It toppled and rolled, but Deanne's hands darted out and she managed to pin it before it could fall and shatter. At least it seemed for decoration only, as nothing spilled. Deanne righted the vase and continued to feel her way around the room.

Her progress was clumsy, which only increased her incongruous feelings. Deanne quickly realized that there must have been a mistake. There was more furniture in this room than had been in the entirety of her home in Skingrad. Running her fingers along the edges of the cabinets and dressers revealed ornate carvings. The bed was luxurious, with an impossibly thick and lush mattress. The rug that sprawled across the ground had an incredibly fine texture.

Deanne didn't dare sit down anywhere. Magister Faralda must have made a mistake. This couldn't possibly be where she was to stay. It was the chamber of a noble, not for someone like her. Just standing in it made her fearful of damaging something. Instead, she went back to the doorway to wait for the magister to return. It wasn't much longer before the approach of two sets of footsteps.

"Ah," an unfamiliar voice addressed her. "You must be Tolfdir's guest." She sounded very firm and matter of fact. A woman of authority and little humor.

"Uh…yes, ma'am," Deanne said, attempting to curtsy to who was clearly a superior figure here at the College.

"Good Aetherius, girl, what has happened to you?"

Deanne stood awkwardly. "…Ma'am?"

"You are covered in blood," the new woman stated forthrightly, as if demanding an explanation.

Deanne wondered what she was—? Oh. The young woman touched her front, feeling a difference in texture that indicated what stained her. She'd forgotten. Vilkas had been covered in blood when he'd lain on her lap. She must look horrific.

"It…It's not mine, ma'am. We were attacked on the road."

"Hm." The woman sounded unconvinced. Except that her tone didn't change when she next said, "Well I hope you're not attached to that garment. It should be thrown away immediately." Perhaps that was just how she sounded: perpetually critical. "There are some spare robes in the wardrobes. Those that do not fit you will be put back into storage. Faralda, make sure she can reach the kitchen and lavatories before you go about your day. You have the time for that, don't you?"

"I do," the other magister said kindly. Was this really the woman who had been so firm at the gate?

Mirabelle continued. "Good. Then a proper rest should be in order. You look as though you've been through Oblivion to get here. You can meet Tolfdir and the Arch-mage after that. They'll doubtless have questions, but they can wait."

Deanne heard the stern woman step toward her. Deanne shrank away instinctively, a result of many years spent just trying to stay out of the way. But when she moved no further, Deanne received an expectant, "Well? Do you need assistance finding your way inside?"

The young woman started and turned her head hesitantly toward the doorway at her back.

"Is there a problem?" the stern woman demanded.

Deanne was tempted to just cower before her authority, but managed to get out, "No…The room. It's…well—"

"Speak up, girl. Make yourself heard."

Deanne jumped, then swallowed and gathered her courage. "The room is very…fine."

"Did you expect us to put you on a mat in the corner?" The older woman didn't seem to see the problem.

"Well…no. But…it's just more than I need, ma'am."

"Hm…" The stern woman still sounded so critical, like she was judging every single word being said. "It took several atronachs to get everything moved from storage. Phinis won't be taken from his experiments again for a while. If it means that much to you, you'll just have to live with what's here until we can spare the time to move things again."

"Uh…yes, ma'am," Deanne almost whispered. Why did she feel guiltier asking to be given less?

"Good." Her heel turned on the stone. "I leave her in your care, Faralda. And should you see Yisra before I do, send her to Urag at once. He has something to say about the last spell tome she borrowed." With that, the stern woman took quick steps away, all her authority turned to some other destination.

Deanne had a dozen questions on her tongue, but she hesitated too long and the door outside opened and shut before she could give voice to any of them. Did…did this mean she was to stay? For good? It hadn't been said plainly. What was to be expected of her? Was she supposed to earn her keep? How? Why would the Arch-mage want to talk to her?

Magister Faralda placed a hand tenderly on Deanne's shoulder. "Let's get you out of those bloody clothes."

"Yes, ma'am," Deanne replied, feeling little choice other than to accept the help. There was an extendable partition set against the wall, which afforded some privacy in this room with no door.

Faralda was very kind through the entire ordeal. She showed the younger woman where robes had been hung up for her use, helped her navigate the room with a bit more precision, then took her out into the hall and showed her where the lavatory was located on the first floor and where the kitchen was on the second. They walked both paths twice so Deanne could find her way and by the time they returned to the room, the new arrival could hardly keep awake. All of the stress of the last few weeks was drawing up and weighting her down, the demand for attentiveness now gone within a protected and finite space. Faralda helped her into bed, a strange sort of challenge as the mattress gave so much beneath her weight.

Deanne's exhaustion was compounded by the warmth of the blanket, and the presence of secure stone walls all around her. Nothing, not the strange new surroundings, nor the rushing drone of the magicka well, nor the multitude of strangers with whom she was sharing this new space, could keep the young woman from sleep. Deanne curled up tight beneath the heavy covering and was asleep even before she heard the magister leave the room.

XXX

The morning's waking was accompanied by a rush of fear over the strangeness of her surroundings. The dull roar that echoed off stone to strike her eardrums drew pictures of destruction in her mind. Deanne panicked and struggled to rise, but her coverings were heavy and her hands sank into the ground. Where was she? What was happening?! Deanne fought herself free, kicking and thrashing at her heavy, doughy surroundings, panic rising. But so too did the memories. Deanne dragged back on her struggles as the previous day's events caught up with her.

Winterhold. She'd made it to the College of Winterhold. The roaring sound was a magicka well. The bedding that restrained her was hers, in her personal bedchamber in...the Hall of Retainment? No, Attainment. The place she was to live.

Deanne's struggled with her breathing, the fear fading away as she collected herself. She had made it to the College. No more travel. No more big world. No more newness. This was the last new place she would wake up to for a long while. She took a few very deep breaths and sank back into the soft mattress. It wasn't stiff, like home. Or smell of straw. How long would it be before waking up here stopped being frightening?

She thought to rise and find Vilkas, except…he wasn't here, was he? No, he'd already gone. He hadn't even come into the College with her. Deanne felt a dull stab in her chest as she remembered being left at the College gates, but made an effort to shake it away. She wasn't his problem anymore. He'd promised to get her to the College, and he had done just that. It wasn't right for her to expect more from him, especially after all he'd done to get her here. Deanne curled up under the blanket, regretting that she hadn't said more to him before he'd left. It wasn't as though she would ever encounter him again. He 'didn't do magic', and she would likely spend the rest of her life within these walls. Their last encounter...would indeed be their last.

Rather than chide herself with regrets, Deanne resolved to rise and see how much of the room she still remembered from the night before. Over the course of the next two hours she managed to create a fairly detailed image in her mind and get to both the lavatory and the kitchen on her own. It was just as well, since there didn't seem to be anyone else in the Hall. She fumbled a little finding something to eat and decided it was better not to poke around a common area without a guide. It wouldn't do to go making a mess. She didn't know what sort of sharp utensils or contraptions the mages used. Better not to take the chance that she might disrupt something or hurt herself when there was no one around.

Back in her bedchamber, which still seemed excessive to her needs, Deanne found the wardrobe where the spare robes were hung. They were sized closely enough for her to use, although the layers took some figuring out. With the Hall still apparently empty, she turned to her bag. She should unpack. She was going to live here so it made sense that she should find places for her few possessions. She wouldn't need more than the one wardrobe. Whoever thought she might need another, two cabinets and a set of drawers? How many things could one person possibly own?

Deanne carefully removed and took account of each item in her travel bag. Most of her garments were torn up, but she still intended to mend them and make use of them. There was no place for wastefulness in her life. Delving deeper into the bag, after several articles of clothing, she came across an unfamiliar bag. It was heavy. Deanne picked it up and felt the outline of coin within as they clinked around. She started, then immediately turned to the bed and carefully upturned the contents. A multitude of coins spilled out. Sorting through them, Deanne was astonished to find several hundred coins at her fingertips. When a number of those proved to be hundred-septim pieces, her shock only increased. There were at least a thousand septims here as well as, what must be gems, although she couldn't know what sort.

She'd never known such a sum, her family having lived on modest means. Where had it…?

Vilkas!

This must be all of the coin and valuables he'd gathered up in the bandits cave after he'd found her. It had to be. But what was it doing here? He must have put it in the wrong bag and left it all with her by mistake. Deanne heard the hall door open and quickly swept the coins and gems back into their purse and stowed it away at the back of the wardrobe drawer. Perhaps she could find a way to return it to him. It wasn't as though she would have use for such a large amount of coin—She paused, half fearful. Unless the College expected her to pay for her keep.

The opening of the hall door had admitted a number of people. After stowing the coin, Deanne turned back to finish with her bag, but kept her ears open. No one entered her room or even seemed to notice it was now occupied. They were all too absorbed with their own conversations. Five voice. There were congratulations regarding some apparently recent performances. A few were arguing theory that might have been about Conjuration, but she wasn't sure. Regardless, they passed by her chamber and went upstairs. Deanne didn't attempt to make contact. In truth, she was more than happy to remain invisible.

She finished putting her clothes and possessions away, not even filling the drawers of the wardrobe, let alone branching out into the other storage vessels. Then she sat down in the corner chair and listened to the people who now shared her space, trying to pick out individuals as well as conversation. Only most had moved upstairs, although she couldn't guess where precisely they were, given she didn't know the specifics of the Hall's overall layout.

After a bit longer, the door to the Hall opened again, this time admitting one person. These footsteps came forward and across her door, at which point a reedy male voice spoke in to her, "Ah, you must be Deanne, Antoni's daughter."

Deanne stood up quickly at being addressed. "Yes, sir."

The man came inside and continued, "Good, good. I'm glad you made it. I am Tolfdir." Father's mentor. The one who had replied to father's request and said she would be allowed to stay at the College. He spoke from his throat, giving the impression that time had simply worn away at his voice's strength. And he seemed quite pleasant, although she got the sense that his mind was half elsewhere. "Now, then, is he about? Your father, I mean. I haven't seen the old boy in years. Is he still researching Ayleid ruins?"

"Uh…No, sir, he didn't come with me. I'm afraid Father's been very ill of late. He couldn't make the journey."

"Oh. I'm terribly sorry. I do recall his letter saying something like that, now. But you did not come alone, did you? I was under the impression you'd arrived with someone…" Magister Tolfdir trailed off, sifting through his thoughts.

"Yes, sir," Deanne supplied. "My brother and I came to Skyrim together. But—"

"Ah yes, now I remember. The one who studied in the Imperial City. Splendid."

Deanne tried to catch him quickly. "No, sir. That is, my brother and I did come to Skyrim together, but we were separated on the road. A warrior found me and brought me here. But he didn't stay." Deanne made an effort not to dwell on that. "I'm sure my brother will get here soon, though. He will be able to stay when he does, won't he?"

"Oh, of course, of course. No need to worry about that. How are you getting along? Everyone treating you alright?"

"Yes, sir. Although, I haven't met many people yet."

"Well, I'm sure you'll make friends before long. Do you intend to take up study while you're here?"

Deanne started. She hadn't anticipated that. "I…well, I didn't expect to, no. I don't know much about magic. I learned a little Restoration from the priests in Skingrad, but that was all."

"Well, if you get the urge, you can attend the morning classes in the Hall of the Elements."

Deanne felt a little eagerness at the prospect, but quickly drew it back. "Sir…I can't see. I'm not sure how much I'd be able to learn."

"Now, now, you don't need to see to use magic. If you have the aptitude and some drive, the magisters can find some way to accommodate you."

That caught her off guard. She could actually learn magic here? That hadn't even occurred to her. A strange concept given that she knew she was coming to a place of magical study, but Deanne had just assumed she would be meant to stay out of the way of everyone else "…I suppose—"

"Splendid," Magister Tolfdir exclaimed as though she'd already given an affirmative. "I'm sure you'll fit in wonderfully. And your brother, too, whenever he gets here. And do call me Tolfdir, my dear. 'Sir' makes me feel terribly old and I don't need the reminder." She could picture the teasing smile on his face. She returned it softly, fairly sure that another 'sir' would come out of her mouth if she spoke. The magister clapped his hands together. "Now then, we'll speak again. But I do need to…" he puzzled for a moment, turning back toward the door and mumbling under his breath. "Aha! Yes, soul gems. That's what I came in here for." The magister turned back to her and clasped one of her hand between his. "It's been a pleasure to meet you, my dear. If you need anything, simply ask."

Deanne smiled, relieved. "Yes, sir—Tolfdir. Thank you."

As Magister Tolfdir headed toward the door, one of her concerns leapt into the light "Sir—uh, Tolfdir. I was wondering something." He paused and she continued, "My staying here. You wrote to Father that I could stay here indefinitely, but you didn't mention… What is expected of me? I mean, how am I meant to earn my keep?"

Magister Tolfdir was surprised. "Your 'keep'? Oh, no, my dear. You are a Ward of the College. Did I not mention that?" he asked himself confusedly. Then the magister chuckled at himself. "There are days I could forget my own head were it not attached."

While he didn't seem troubled at all, Deanne wasn't comfortable with the partial information. "And what does that mean?"

"It means that that the College will take responsibility for you for the remainder of your life, should you choose to spend it here. You will have shelter, food, use of the College's resources and freedom to explore the grounds. Provided you follow the rules we have, of course."

"Rules? What rules?"

"Well..." The elder paused again, his mind falling inward into what must have been a very cluttered archive of memory. "You aren't permitted to cause deliberate harm to your fellow students. Nor is stealing other's possessions allowed. Not disrupting others' experiments isn't against the rules, per say; it's more a matter of common courtesy. I'm sure there are a few more specific ones, but nothing you need to worry about. You seem a good girl."

That was it? Don't hurt anyone and don't steal anything, and she was allowed to stay? That was all? Deanne felt her eyes prick and tried to keep the tears in. She would not cry here. Not even out of gratitude. "Thank you, sir—Tolfdir! Thank you. Thank you so much."

"My pleasure, my dear. You just let someone know if you need anything. But I really do need… Hm…what was it?" Deanne almost laughed when he started puzzling through his mind again. He seemed to be scatter-brained by nature.

"Soul gems, sir—Tolfdir!" she caught herself again. "You came in here for soul gems."

The magister clapped his hands in agreement. "That I did. Thank you, my dear." And with that he was out the door.

Deanne stepped back to reseat herself when her knees began to quake. Don't hurt anyone, don't steal, be considerate. By the Nine, was the price of a home so simple? The Imperial couldn't help the smile that slowly crept across her face. 'Home'. The rush of the magicka well outside, the sounds of the people upstairs, the feel of the carpet beneath her feet and the chair she sat upon. Home. She had a home.

The tear from before pricked at her eyes again. _'Thank you, Father. I made it. I'm going to be safe here, I think. Thank you for all of this. And perhaps…I can find something useful to do with my life here. Here. In my new home.'_

***Gasp* There! And for those of you seriously wondering what hole my writing brain keeps hiding away in, I'll have you know the next chapter is mostly completed already. So there is more coming in a timely fashion. I promise, I hate leaving you waiting as much as you hate to be kept waiting. **

**Leave a comment if any occurred to you and I'll post again real soon.**


	16. Newcomer

**And on we continue. Big thanks to new my beta, breather. I'm so glad to get back to posting. **

Deanne didn't get far beyond her room for most of the first couple of weeks. She passed the time familiarizing herself with her chamber, with the schedules and voices of the others who called the Hall of Attainment home, and knitting through her supply of yarn a few times. The students didn't pay her much attention. The most meaningful conversation—really the only conversation—had been the second day when one of them had finally realized there was a new arrival.

"So what are you studying?"

Deanne felt self-conscious holding a handful of yarn in front of a learned apprentice. "I'm not studying anything." It was a miracle the apprentice had heard her reply at all, she had spoken so softly.

"…So what are you doing here?"

That had preceded an extended awkward silence. By the Eight, what could she say? "Well…Tolfdir invited me…"

Divines above, it was such a foolish answer. The apprentice, however, only seemed slightly put off by it. "Oh. Well...welcome anyway. The College takes some adjusting to. I should know; I've only been here a few months myself. But it gets better as you go on."

"...Thank you. I appreciate you saying so."

The apprentice turned to leave, but quickly doubled back. "I'm Brelyna Maryon, by the way."

"Deanne. Thank you. For talking to me."

"No problem. I know what it's like to be the new arrival."

It was the only interaction she had with the apprentices, however. None of the others took the time to speak to her deliberately. Deanne tried not to let it bother her. It was what she'd wanted, wasn't it? To be invisible and out of the way.

At least she wasn't entirely forgotten. Magister Tolfdir checked in on her once in a while. And, to Deanne's surprise, Magister Faralda as well.

Deanne was cleaning up her midday meal alone less than a week after her arrival when new footsteps entered the dining enclave. The blind woman wasn't yet able to differentiate the apprentices by their footsteps yet, but was glad to hear the familiar voice of Magister Faralda. "Well, hello again."

"Hello, Magister." To Deanne's ear, Faralda's voice had the texture of smooth silk warmed by the fireplace. Her words could brushed over the skin and put one at ease. It was a welcomed change from the apprentices' indifference. Even her light chuckle seemed to warm the room.

"There's no need to be so formal. I thought I would come and see how you're doing."

While Deanne made an effort to stay unnoticed and out of the way, it felt wonderful that someone would remember her and make a point to seek her out. "I'm alright. The room is lovely. I feel a little like royalty with everything in there. I don't know how anyone expects me to use all the space."

Deanne heard Faralda's smile. "Well, you were hardly going to be treated like a servant. And what about the apprentices? Have they bothered you at all?"

"Oh no. I don't think they even notice me. But that's alright. I don't want to get in anyone's way." Faralda seemed genuinely interested in the younger woman's well being. That made Deanne more willing to reveal the slight unpleasantness she did suffer. "My stomach has been bothering me a little. I think it's just from worrying, though. Is there an alchemist at the College I could speak to?"

Faralda replied, "I'm afraid we don't do much in the way of alchemy here. Colette is our local Restoration expert. If you'd like to see her now, I can take you."

Deanne's mouth opened to refuse. The Magister certainly had more important things to do than babysit the newcomer. Except that she had offered. So Deanne closed her mouth and replied, "Thank you. I'll just finish with this, then." She scoured the remainder of her dishware quickly and they returned to her room briefly to get one of the warm over-robes from her wardrobe before Faralda led her outside.

It was still terribly cold. Deanne could hear the wind blustering against the walls of the College; they didn't seem to have stemmed at all since the day she'd arrived. All the more reason to remain inside the Hall of Attainment and not wander, but Deanne nonetheless tried to track distance and direction as well as she could as they left her range of familiarity. They followed the wall of the College, passing the entrance gate and then through a set of doors that were positioned to mirror the Hall of Attainment. In fact, this space echoed with the same rushing of a magicka well in just the same way, it might well be a duplicate of the apprentices' Hall.

Faralda confirmed it. "This is the Hall of Countenance. This is where the magisters live. Colette's room is upstairs." And she led the way in almost a duplicate path of the one Deanne took from her room to the stairs every day in the other hall.

"Do you live here?"

"I do," the magister answered patiently. "Just here." Deanne reached out to identify the doorway when Faralda brought her near to an absence of wall, noting that it was positioned similarly to her own room. "If you ever need to find me, just come here. I prefer to use my private space for my research. Now let's go see Colette. She should be here."

They went upstairs next, every step and sound confirming to Deanne that this hall was built almost exactly like the Hall of Attainment. If she ever got the courage to walk the distance from there to here alone, at least she wouldn't need to worry over remembering a new layout.

On the second floor, coming to the third room on the right, Deanne heard someone shuffling around inside muttering to themselves. "Where is it? I know it was here. I _saw_ it."

Faralda stopped them in the doorway. "Colette. Can you take a rest from…whatever you're doing? I've someone here to see you."

There was a shuffling of cloth as Magister Colette stood from where she'd been down on the floorand stomped over toward the door with, Deanne could only imagine was a baleful expression. "Is this the one who took my research materials?"

Deanne shrank away but Faralda just sighed. "No. She's a new arrival and she's been feeling a bit ill. I thought you could take a look."

Magister Colette harrumphed. "Of _course_. Poke fun at Colette and her useless school. But the minute anyone gets sick, who is the first one you call? I get no respect. None at all." Her voice wasn't particularly pleasant to listen to. A bit nasally, but not dangerously imposing. Rather…well…like an overgrown child. Which seemed too odd a comparison for a magister.

Faralda tried to maintain a calm exterior, but she seemed exasperated in spite, a harshness edging the soft tones with which she spoke to Deanne. "Just—Can you take a moment for her, or not?"

The other Magister grumbled, but conceded, turning her back as Faralda guided Deanne into the Magister's space. "Yes, fine. I'll have a look. I just want to point out that you came to me. I do provide a useful service here and I don't want that forgotten just because you look down on wards."

Rather than respond to that Faralda opted for introductions instead. "Deanne, this is Colette Marence, our Restoration expert. Colette, this is Deanne, our most recent arrival. All the way from Skingrad. And it was a stomach ache, wasn't it?"

"Yes, ma'am," Deanne responded as she was urged to sit down on a cushioned seat. "A little nausea. I think it's just from the worrying though. That's all. If you have something to steady my stomach, I'm sure that's all I need."

"Nausea. Worrying?" Magister Colette mumbled. "What about? Too much worry could cause ulcers, you know. Nasty things, those. Better to head them off. If you _can_." Deanne got the impression the woman was speaking from experience.

"Oh, it's… Well, my brother is meant to be here. But he hasn't arrived yet. After what happened to me and not knowing where he is, I'm worried for him." She angled her head down to hide the glass forming over her eyes and began wringing the fabric of her robe. "I can't really help it."

"Hm." Magister Colette softened just a little. "Well, I think I've got a concoction around here for upset stomachs. Should take care of it."

As Magister Colette went plinking about a collection of glass bottles on the wall, Faralda placed a hand on Deanne's shoulder and said quietly, "I'm sure he'll turn up before long."

"Thank you, mag—Faralda." Deanne did her best to smile her thanks for the reassurance, hoping it came off as convincing. It didn't do much to help her stomach, though.

Magister Colette was still searching, and growing more frustrated as she did. "Divines be merciful. I can't find anything anymore. And I don't even know what's misplaced and what's just missing! Aha!" The exclamation came with a removal of a glass vial from the collection. "Well at least something's come up right." She turned back to her visitors and Deanne reached out to accept the bottle, closing her hand around it when the glass was pressed into her hand. "That looks to be the last one, though. I'll have to talk to Enthir if you want more."

Deanne removed the stopper by habit to smell what she'd been given. In fact, the scent was all she needed to recognize the tonic that the priests in Skingrad would give out for this sort of thing. Apparently it was a common recipe, although a small sip revealed a couple of alternative ingredients. "If you have an alchemy table, I think I could make more myself."

"You practice alchemy?" Magister Colette asked, now showing interest.

"Well…some. I learned a few useful potions at the Temple and how to make them myself without needing someone to watch me."

Magister Colette replied, "I'm sure we can work something out. I swear Enthir gouges me for every septim nowadays. It'd be nice not to worry so much about potions. What sort do you know?"

It was heartening to know that she possessed a skill someone was actually interested in. Deanne named a few common curative recipes, healing and magicka potions she'd learned, and the processes and implements she'd mastered the use of under the tutelage of the priests. Colette was soon delving into specifics.

"Could you manage elemental resistances?"

Deanne thought carefully before answering. "I picked up on a few undertones when I was working with particular ingredients. But not specifically, no. Maybe, if I could experiment a little, I could come up with something. I'd rather have someone on hand if I'm going to do that, though. Just in case."

Magister Colette sounded excited. "Oh, absolutely. We've got a whole room of alchemical ingredients just sitting up here. No one really practices, you see. Oh, the look on that Enthir's face! We'll see how he likes having the rug under him pulled."

"Colette!" Faralda admonished the other magister firmly.

"What? I know he took those soul gems last month. Those were for a very important experiment. Just because I hadn't used them yet, doesn't mean I wasn't _going_ _to_."

Faralda sighed. "I hope you're at least going to provide the girl some compensation for this work."

"Oh, I'm sure we can come to a price."

Deanne wasn't so sure she'd know what to do with coin. Then she lit on an idea. "Magister Colette. If I may, would you be willing to…teach me about Restoration?" She felt the need to explain further. "Magister Tolfdir said I could study while I was here, if I wanted to. I learned a little from the priests. It's just if you have the time."

"You wish to study Restoration?" By the Eight, she actually seemed pleased, drawing up importantly. "Well, priests just focus on one _aspect _of the Restoration school. It's not just about healing, you see. Wards are a _very_ important skill for _any_ mage to have. And then of course there's the repulsion of the undead. It's really as important a spell as candlelight or mage fire."

Deanne was astonished. "All that is Restoration?"

"Oh, yes," Magister Colette declared, seemingly almost smitten by the fact that Deanne was showing such interest. "But you see it's not just a matter of _wanting_, it's a matter of _aptitude_."

The Restoration magister started talking a mile a minute and held Deanne's attention rapt. Before long it turned into a lesson, of sorts, with Colette testing her new pupil's abilities and providing instruction on how to better direct her restorative magicka. Faralda left soon to go about her own business. Deanne suspected she was pleased, if surprised, by how things had turned out. Deanne stayed for several hours, taking some time to familiarize herself with the apparently long disused alchemy setting as well.

Magister Colette took her back to the Hall of Attainment at the end of their lesson, then returned the next day to bring her back, eagerly providing more Restoration instruction and ingredients for potions that Deanne began to make. After that, rare was the day that Deanne was not in the Hall of Countenance, occupying the alchemy station or listening to Colette speak of Restoration spells and her research. And, gradually, her stomach problems waned.

XXX

Three weeks. Deanne was unraveling and recoiling her latest yarn-work in her room, needing something to keep her hands busy. She had been here three weeks. Where was Marc? He should have been here by now, shouldn't he? Unless something had happened to him. The young woman shivered and focused on the tension of her yarn as she wrapped it. How many times had she worked with this particular skein? Ten? Twelve? Where was he?

She was so wrapped up in her thoughts that she didn't realize there was anyone at the door until they cleared their throat. "You're the new arrival, right? The alchemist."

His voice was in the mid-lower range. Slightly gravely. Hearing it, she imagined a rough and gnarled tree, with secrets hidden in the knots. If she matched voices to names correctly, this was Enthir. The one Colette had mentioned having to buy potions from. And he was here by intent, not casual interest or chance as he was attempting to appear.

"I make potions, yes. I don't think I can quite call myself an alchemist." Although, maybe now she could. With someone on hand, familiar equipment and a bit of courage, she'd begun experimenting. Just a little. Testing out familiar ingredients to see what happened, letting her sense of taste and smell guide her, while comparing the results of each mixture. It was a little daunting, at first. But she was becoming more comfortable at the table. "Can I help you?"

The man stepped into her chamber and replied, "Well I'm hoping we can help each other. I'm not sure if you're aware but I run a bit of a…business here at the college."

"Yes, I know. Colette says she used to buy potions from you."

"Yes, well…it's the 'used to' part that's got my attention." He came further in and she heard her bed shifted as he leaned against it. "As you well know, potions are a pretty important bit of commerce. Even here at the College. Especially here at the College. There's so much research happening, a lot of the time it's just easier to drink a potion than spend magicka on a restoration spell or waste time waiting for your magicka to refill. And, see, I used to provide for that very need. Now that you're making potions for Colette, I've lost a pretty significant source of income."

Deanne puzzled. "But I don't charge for my potions."

His words caught for a second, disbelieving. "And therein lies the problem! You don't charge. You just…give them away."

"Well, I don't need them. I make them because I enjoy it. If other people have a use for them, then shouldn't they have the potions instead?"

His polite veneer fractured a little, like the entire conversation was going wrong. "Yes, but it is customary to _pay _for them." Enthir needed a minute to recompose himself. "I have an offer. I'd like to buy your potions from you. Exclusively. I'll give you a good price."

"But I don't need money. And Colette teaches me about Restoration."

"And that's…fine. For you. Very noble. But you see, I _do_ need the money. My business operates on a very delicate 'spend-to-make' basis."

"'Spend to make'?"

He intensified, apparently eager to make headway on this particular avenue. "Yes. In order to make money, I have to spend it. If someone needs something, then I have to spend money to get it for them. Then they pay me for it when I deliver."

"Oh! Like the staff you got for Gadave last week?"

That stopped Enthir rather abruptly. "You know about that?"

"Yes, I heard when you gave it to him," Deanne replied, honestly.

A number of seconds passed while he decided how to proceed. "And…how much did you hear?"

"Most of it. Most of what happens in the Hall, actually. The magicka well took some getting used to, but I can pick up a lot now. Is two thousand a lot of gold for a staff?" She couldn't quite get a grasp on what made a staff more or less valuable. But Gadave had been very glad to get this particular staff from Enthir when he did.

She heard him swallow and could have sworn he had become anxious. About what, though, she didn't know. For a lengthy few minutes, there wasn't a word spoken. Enthir seemed to have something on his mind, so Deanne waited patiently for him to find the words. She wasn't in a rush. Colette was doing something in the library today, so Deanne had little on her agenda. Nothing, really.

"…Okay, what do you want?" he finally demanded.

Deanne blinked confusedly. "What do you mean?"

The apprentice had suddenly gotten very stressed. "You've made your point. And whatever you're getting out of this, I'll make it worth your while to just…not hear anything!"

"Why should I want anything?" What was he talking about?

Enthir pressed on emphatically. "I provide a service! If people didn't want my services, I wouldn't be here. And if not me, they'd find some other way. You have to understand that!"

"Enthir—Enthir! What are you talking about?"

He stopped talking and there was another long minute spent waiting for him to find that eluded him. And hopefully make sense when he did.

"…Are…Are you just having a go at me?"

Deanne cocked her head. "A go? What do you mean?"

Another person strode into her doorway and Faralda spoke. "Deanne—oh. Am I interrupting something?"

The young woman replied, "I'm not sure. Enthir?"

He didn't speak, even though she felt like he wanted to. The additional company appeared to put him off. "Uh—no. No, nothing at all." Stood up and moved toward the door. "Just…forget about everything. I wasn't even here."

Deanne listened to him go, after which Faralda inquired of her, "Making friends?"

"I don't know," the younger woman replied. That had all been very strange. "Was there something you wanted?"

"Yes," the Magister replied, recovering her purpose here. "There is someone at the front gate, asking for you."

Deanne's heart lit up in a heartbeat. "Marc?"

Faralda answered sadly, "No, I'm afraid not. Not yet. It's a courier from Whiterun. He asked for you by name, and says he has a message for you but says he must deliver it in person."

"But I don't know anyone in Whiterun." Then she remembered, she and Marc had separated near Whiterun. Perhaps it was from him!

"Should I send him away?"

"No! I—Should I go out and speak with him?"

"No need," the Magister replied. "I'll bring him in. You stay just there." Deanne set her knitting aside and folded her hands in her lap as Faralda exited through the Hall's front door.

She made an effort to prepare herself: hoping for good news, preparing for the worst. None of it really helped to quell the desperate beating of her heart or the tremor that had suddenly set into her hands. Deanne knotted a handful of her robe in her fist to try keep them still.

It wasn't long before the door opened and there was a brief draft from outside as two people entered: Faralda's familiar footsteps and the stranger's new ones. They came to her doorway, at which point the courier noticed and addressed her. "Miss Deanne of Winterhold?"

"Yes." It took all her willpower not to start wringing her robes. "You have a message for me?"

"Yes, miss. A message and a package, from Vilkas of the Companions of Jorrvaskr."

It was hard not to deflate. _Not from Marc… Still no word about Marc. _But she recovered some curiosity with Vilkas's name. "Vilkas?" Why would he send her anything?

The courier cleared his throat nervously before beginning his message. Perhaps Faralda was glaring. "He sends his apologies about how he left you. He wants you to know it was nothing you did. He didn't think you needed him anymore, but that that was no excuse for him leaving the way he did. He sends his best wishes and knows you're sure to do well here."

Despite what she'd hoped the message would be, Deanne still smiled softly. It was nice to hear such things, especially with how she and Vilkas had parted. This resolved her worries that she'd somehow offended him, at least. "Thank you."

"And that?" Faralda inquired.

"Oh, yes." The courier shuffled with something. "He sent this along. Said you'd probably need it up here at the College." He came over and offered it. Deanne put out her hands and felt around the dimensions of a bulky object of cloth. Accepting it from him, it was relatively light for its size. Deanne placed it on her lap and ran her hands over it, finding it very supple and bound by twine and a hearty knot.

"Would you like some help with that?" Faralda offered.

Deanne blushed lightly. "Yes, please." She'd be all day undoing this if left on her own.

The Magister came over and there was a breath of smoke in the air as the twine loosened. Deanne pulled apart the cloth wrapping and then gasped as a mountain of fur spilled over her lap.

"Well," Faralda admitted. "I'll give him this: he certainly knows how to choose a gift." Her hand joined Deanne's in exploration of the fur. "Snowy saber cat?" The Magister hummed with appreciation despite the disparaging inclination. "Warrior type. Probably killed the thing himself, I'll wager."

Deanne continued to run her hands over the pelt. It was so soft and fine. She couldn't find any blemishes or tears. A seamless mantle from a single fur. And warm. Already her lap was growing toasty just by having it cast over her. Faralda was right: Vilkas had chosen his gift well. This was just the sort of covering she'd need here in the cold North. And knowing he had considered her after leaving was…

She felt a sheen cover her eyes as she lifted her head to address the messenger. "Thank you. Thank you so much for bringing this." And then she remembered—, "May I send something back?"

"Of course, miss."

Deanne stood and carefully draped the mantle over her chair, then walked the measured distance to her wardrobe and opened the lowest drawer. From the back, she pulled out the bag of coin and gems. The one she'd found still in her pack after Vilkas had left her here.

Offering it to the courier, she said, "Would you please take this to him? He left it with me by mistake."

"Uh…sorry, miss, but he said I wasn't to accept any coin from you."

"Oh, I'm sure he already been paid you. But this is for him." She tried to clarify. "He saved me from bandits, and this was the money he was supposed to keep. As a repayment for his help."

"He mentioned something about that. And he said anything he left with you was yours."

"But—"

The courier shifted away from her and said, "Beggin' your pardon, miss, but he was very clear that if I accepted any money from you, for any reason, he'd hunt me down and take it back. I'm _based_ out of Whiterun. I'd rather not be on the wrong side of the Companions."

Her arm began to tremble with the weight of the offered pouch, forcing her to draw it back. "Then…he left it with me on purpose?"

"I'd say that sounds right, miss."

Faralda hummed lightly. "At least he's making amends. Keep the coin, dear. You don't know when you might need it."

Deanne held the pouch against her, once again struck by Vilkas's generosity. He'd found her in the middle of nowhere and taken it upon himself to bring her, alone, all the way to the College of Winterhold. He'd defended her, taken care of her, and even stood by her against a Daedric artifact, then accepted no payment for the deeds. And now he sent her this beautiful mantle and assurance that there was no ill will between them. By the Eight, her eyes were pricking again.

"Thank him for me. Tell him…" What could she say? "Words cannot express how grateful I am for everything he's done. I wish there were but…" She sniffed. She had to hold it together. No more crying. It was so hard, though! "He saved my life. I'll always remember that. Always."

"I'm sure that will be enough, miss," was the courier's reply. Deanne prayed he would be able to express everything well enough. She certainly couldn't.

Faralda escorted the courier back out of the Hall, and Deanne replaced the pouch of valuables back into her drawer. Then she took up the fur mantle and wrapped it around herself. It was a little big, but the added length only served to insulate her further. She sat down and hugged it close.

He'd remembered her. It felt…better than she could have imagined. True, she probably would never come into contact with him again. But that anyone would remember her in such a circumstance: after the trial and the fact that she was now a Ward of the College while Vilkas had returned to being a warrior in a faraway city, it felt significant that he had still thought of her. But then, he was a Companion. That was what he did, wasn't it? Deanne smiled fondly and nestled into the fur, not feeling so alone in the world anymore.

***squeak* Auh, he remembers. For those of you who have noted it, yes there is unfinished business between Deanne and Vilkas. We'll see where that goes. Deanne has a long way to go yet. But she's started, so there. ****Leave a review with your thoughts. I'll keep writing. Thanks for reading!**


	17. Focus

**Ha-HA! I'm back on it, baby! The wheels are turning and the chapters are coming. Writing-siesta complete!**

**There, now that that's done. I hope you enjoy the chapter. I do have a backlog of material, so have no fear. There will not be another sudden vanishing act from me. But I will be making you wait for the next chapter anyway. You know, because I'm evil like that. Muahahaha! Yessssssss...**

Deanne brushed the detritus off of the alchemy table and into a waste basket, which she set under the table on the right and then proceeded to wipe down the entire surface of her work space. It was second nature to leave the alchemy area pristine when she was finished with it, with everything in its proper place. Such care was necessary, not just so she could find things easily next time, but also to prevent contamination of her ingredients.

And that care was paying off. She'd completed a healthy number of potions today; just magicka restoratives, but they were getting stronger. Deanne just had to cook the elves ear a bit longer, until the smell became pungent, and it intensified the end result. Although she had managed to burn the first batch. That ending potion had provided a restoration of her magicka pool, but it had also dulled her sensitivity to the heat of the burner for a while after. A resistance to fire? She'd set that potion aside and would need to ask Colette about it. But not now; Colette would be teaching a class in the main College building for most of the day today. She'd been very excited about the lesson Deanne recalled as she arranged her utensils and the potions she'd made on the shelves. Except three. Her best three. Those were going to go on a table in Magister Faralda's chambers, a small thank you for her kindness.

The young woman turned to the side and lifted from the back of a chair the fur mantle that Vilkas had sent to her, and wrapped it around her shoulders. Deanne had worn it almost religiously since receiving it, and not just because it was warm and staved off the wind and snow. The stone walls of the College provided a constant physical sense of security; a constant reminder that she was safe from the dangers of the enormous world outside. The mantle did something similar, but more kindly. When that weight was wrapped around her shoulders, Deanne didn't just feel secure; she felt sheltered. Safe, as one might in an embrace. And, more importantly, remembered. That was something that solid stone walls could not do.

She gathered her potions and proceeded downstairs. Faralda had left the Hall of Countenance about an hour ago, so these potions would be a surprise when she came back. Deanne was so excited about the secretive aspect of her gift that she only sensed the presence of another at the last moment, narrowly avoiding colliding with them.

"I'm sorry, Magister," she said quickly, side stepping around them.

They responded with disbelief. "You…you can see me? Confound it all! I was quite sure I was invisible. Or at least transparent."

Deanne hesitated. "Well…You might be, sir. I wouldn't know. I…can't see."

"Well, not with that hood so far forward. I'm surprised you don't—Wait, I don't believe I know you. Have we met?"

Deanne measured his voice, recalling instances of having heard it in the hall. "No, Magister. I don't think we have." She bowed toward him. "I'm Deanne."

She felt him sour. "Oh. You're the one apprenticing to Colette."

Apprenticing? Was that what she was doing? "I…I don't think so, magister. I'm a Ward of the College, not an apprentice. And you are?"

"Drevis Neloren, Illusion master," he replied tersely. "Are you on your way to the Hall of Attainment?"

"Yes, magister." That was the final destination

"Good. When you get there, send Ilas-Tei to me at once. I've got a few things to say to him."

"Uh…yes, magister." Deanne skirted the Illusion master and, after placing the potions on a table inside Faralda's chamber doorway, made her way outside and across to the other hall. She didn't think it terribly appealing to be the bearer of a displeased summons. Though, she didn't have much of a reason to refuse, considering she _was_ going back to the Hall of Attainment now anyway. She just hoped Ilas-Tei wouldn't take it badly.

Once within the apprentices' hall, Deanne went around the bottom floor to the room she knew to belong to Ilas-Tei. "Ilas-Tei?" she asked, listening for any indication of life.

He was there, scratching quill against parchment, pausing at her call. "Yes, what is it?" He was an Argonian. The only Argonian at the College. Deanne often found herself listening whenever he spoke, trying to visualize how his mouth formed words. It had to be quite a different matter than a human or mer mouth.

"Magister Neloren asked to see you in the Hall of Countenance."

The apprentice hissed loudly, his tongue betraying what serpentine nature there was in his people. "I know what this is about. And you can go tell him that I haven't the time for it right now. I'm right in the middle of something very important. As a matter of fact—." He pushed his chair back and Deanne listened to him shuffle through books and utensils and a clear mess that was his chamber until he found what he was looking for and strode up to her. "Here," he said, slapping a pair of gloves into her hand. "You can take these back to him and tell him that I don't have the time to run his errands. Now or for the foreseeable future. I'm very busy." He then stomped over and planted himself back in his seat and resumed scratching at the parchment very forcefully.

Deanne stood in the doorway, holding the gloves in silence. Delivering a summons from a magister on one's way was one thing. Delivering a refusal back to the Magister, though… "I think Magister Neloren wanted to talk to you, specifically."

"Well, I'm busy," he repeated. "Just take those back to him and tell him I can't do it right now." And the scratching continued.

"…Alright." Deanne didn't really want to tell Magister Neloren that. But…it wasn't as though she was terribly busy.

The path back to the Hall of Countenance seemed shorter this time...which wasn't a good thing.

"Magister Neloren?"

"Hm? Oh, good. Where's Ilas-Tei?"

"Uh…" Oh, dear. She couldn't imagine the Magister being very happy with the response. "He said he is very busy." She stepped in the direction of the Magister and offered him the gloves from Ilas-Tei. "He asked me to give you these and tell you that he doesn't have the time right now and probably won't for a while."

The gloves were snatched from her hand, the Magister spitting a sound of displeasure. "Too busy?" he muttered forcefully, then said aloud. "A word of advice to you: as an apprentice of the College, when you give your word about something, you're expected to keep it. Especially when it is in regards to the College's overall welfare."

Deanne stayed very still before the beratment that didn't seem precisely intended for her; though she couldn't help but feel it besides. She didn't like being on anyone's bad side. Especially a magister. She felt his attention shift elsewhere, and only then gathered will enough to ask, "Is it anything I can help with?"

Magister Neloren's attention returned to her. "You?"

Deanne swallowed, trying not to appear nervous before his displeasure. "Y-yes. I may not be an apprentice, but if there's something I can do, I'd like to help."

He considered, intensely. And long enough for Deanne to worry what she was volunteering to help with. "Would you be willing to commit to the responsibility over an extended period? I am not looking for someone to run a one-time errand. This needs to be done every few weeks, at most. A duty that Ilas-Tei claimed to be capable of performing."

"Well…what is it?"

The Magister breathed out, apparently irritated that he had to explain this to someone new. "As you may be aware, the College has gone to great lengths to purify and enhance the natural energies of the world. This both enhances our connection to the realm of magic and eliminates possible interference from outside sources. These energies can become polluted over time, depending on a number of variables. The focus points of purification must be cleansed regularly to maintain an acceptable work environment here at the College." His voice twisted with displeasure. "Ilas-Tei accepted this task and is shirking it."

The Magister was rather irritated about this, wasn't he?

"Couldn't you do this, Magister?"

"Well, of course I could," he scoffed. "It's a simple enough matter. But my time is better spent forwarding the field of Illusion magic. Besides, this is a means by which apprentices might distinguish themselves and prove themselves reliable. A quality that Ilas-Tei clearly lacks. Do you think yourself a better choice?"

"I…I'm not sure, magister. What exactly would I be doing?"

He sighed wearily. "Come here." He took her arm and guided her over to the edge of the magicka well at the hall's center. "Here. Put these on." Deanne lifted her hand and it took a few seconds before the Magister realized and placed the gloves in her palm. She pulled them on as the Magister explained, "These gloves are enchanted for this task, specifically. They will allow you to reach directly into the focus points."

Deanne tugged the gloves on fully, the gloves themselves too large for her hands, and waited for instruction.

"Well?"

She started at the expectant tone. "Well, what?"

"Reach in," Magister Neloren articulated curtly.

Deanne touched the stone rim of the magicka well. "This is the focus point?"

He didn't even try to stifle his groan. "Yes. This is the focus point. What did you think it was?"

"I…I thought it was a magicka well."

He took a breath, probably to berate her again, but stopped short and turned thoughtful. "Hm…Well perhaps that _might_ be an accurate enough reference. However, it is a simplistic one. Practitioners of magic should make an effort to use proper terms when referring to such things, or we invite confusion into our midst." Taking a more instructional voice, he told her, "This is a 'focus point for magical energies'. Now, reach in and feel about. In particular, feel about the outside edge at the bottom."

Deanne pulled up her sleeve and dipped her hand gingerly into the well—focus point. The molten magicka that filled it buzzed around her skin. She'd tried this before. The first few inches of molten material were almost pleasant. But upon reaching deeper, the buzzing became more intense, and then too intense, as raw magical energy assaulted her skin. The gloves apparently shielded her from that, however, and Deanne was able now to lean well over the side and stretch her arm fully to find the stone bottom.

"Now, feel around. You should find some crystals growing there."

She did so, brushing her fingers this way and that until they bumped into a hard edged shape. "I've found one. What do I do?"

"Take it out," the magister replied, as though the answer were obvious. "Just pry it loose. It shouldn't be difficult. The crystals may grow from the sides, but they don't adhere particularly well."

Deanne did as she was told, levering her fingers around the edges of the crystal where it protruded from the bottom of the focus point. Sure enough, it came loose with a little effort and she was able to lift it out, removing a crystal cluster about twice the size of her fist.

The magister scoffed. "No wonder the energies are so polluted. How long has it been since he's done this?" She heard his hood shift as he probably shook his head. "There will be more. Just set that aside and keep going."

Putting the cluster on the edge of the focus point, the woman reached in again. She moved around the stone wall that contained the focus point, finding crystals of varying size clinging to the bottom and sides of the stone. "How do they get here?" she asked as she worked.

"When a pollutant gets into the focus point, a crystal begins forming around it to contain the contaminant. The longer it's left, the larger the gem."

"What kind of contaminant?"

"Any number of things. The remnants of a spell that was drawn in. An errant twist in the flow of energies. A bit of trash someone thought to drop into the focus point." That last option brought back his irritation. "When these energies pass through the focus point, any impurities get caught _here_. The gems form to contain the pollutant. Left too long, the gems will block up the focus point and the flow of magical energies will be diminished, or even stopped. Which is why it must be regularly cleansed, as we are doing now."

There were about a half dozen crystals clustered around the bottom of the focus point by the time she'd cleared the bottom, and Magister Neloran seemed pleased. "Ah, yes. I can tell the difference already. Well done. But you're not finished yet. There are two more focus points that must be cleared. I doubt Ilas-Tei has seen to them, either."

"Where are they?" Hopefully she wouldn't need to go too far.

"There is another in the Hall of Attainment—", of course, "—and the third is in the center of the College courtyard, just outside."

Ah yes. She'd heard that one whenever she passed between the halls, but had never actually crossed the distance to reach it. The stone walk from one hall to the other was quite enough of the great outside world for her on a regular basis.

"Make sure to clear them entirely," the magister told her. "We don't want a repeat of this."

"Yes, Magister."

She turned to the door and was immediately called back. "Apprentice—Deanne." She halted on a septim. "The crystals."

What— "…The ones here?"

Again, he sounded like he was making an effort while speaking with a simpleton. "Yes. 'The ones here'. Don't just leave them lying about."

Deanne hesitated patting the pockets in her garment; the only means by which she could store anything. How was she supposed to carry so many of such large crystals?

The Magister realized the issue even as she did. "Oh, very well. But return for them. Don't just leave the things lying about. And be sure to come better prepared for the task next time."

The task she hadn't known she was going to volunteer for? Deanne didn't even consider speaking the point out loud. Instead she bowed to the Magister and went on her way out of the door.

The rushing of the courtyard's focus point wafted to her from the right. At the center point between the Halls, she paused and turned toward it. It felt like something of a significant act to cross that distance. More than she was capable of right now. So Deanne turned back toward the Hall of Attainment and finished making her way toward it.

The process of clearing the focus point was precisely the same and made no more difficult now without supervision than when Magister Neloran had been providing oversight. Ilas-Tei made neither appearance nor comment that someone else was seeing to his previous task. Deanne wondered if he even noticed it being done. The young woman went to her room and retrieved a shoulder bag in which she placed all the crystals she'd removed from the focus point here. Then it was back out the door and back toward the Hall of Countenance.

Once again, she paused at the point equidistant from the two. The rushing, now off to her left, continued undaunted, broken only by the winds that encircled Winterhold. It didn't sound so far. And nothing seemed to block the sound from reaching her. It wasn't so impossible that she couldn't walk the distance from here to there. Off her beaten path, yes. But not _that_ far off her beaten path.

Deanne stood there, facing in the direction of the unknown. Maybe she could just...go get the other crystals first. Give herself a bit more time to work up to this—No. She wasn't in Skingrad anymore. She wasn't…she couldn't be a sheltered child anymore. The College had a strong set of stone walls to protect her, but that wasn't an excuse to act the she had in the south. She could do this. She _needed_ to do this.

Deep inhale. Complete exhale. And she stepped forward. The smooth stone walkway remained under her feet. Three steps. Ten steps. No great change. The wind grew a little louder further away from the College's outer walls. The bluster of the courtyard's few trees shifted around her rather than off to one side. But nothing frightening. In fact, there was no great change or noteworthy addition to her world at all until she came directly up to the focus point itself.

Deanne sighed with relief. There. Nothing had happened. All that fear and uncertainty for nothing. She was precisely thirty one steps from her usual path to reach the focus point and nothing had happened. And now she knew where the courtyard's focus point was. With that, she tugged the glove more firmly onto her hand and reached in to begin cleansing the bottom. In less than twenty minutes, her bag had almost doubled in weight and volume of crystals, and the flow of the magical energies was intensified. Magister Neloran was right. It was noticeably different. Cleaner. It felt nice.

Securing the bag, she took the thirty one steps back the way she'd come and sighed again to be back on her known route. Next time would be less daunting. She might even do it again before the focus points needed cleansing. Just to accomplish the feat. Wasn't that an adventurous thought?

The young woman returned to the Hall of Countenance and collected the crystals she'd removed from the first focus point. Of course, now that that job was done, it called forth the next question.

"Magister Neloran?" She hoped he was still here within earshot—and that she wasn't disturbing anyone else with her call.

"Yes, yes, what is it?" he asked, emerging from a particular doorway.

Deanne made a note as to which doorway it was, suspecting it to be his personal chamber, and asked, "What do I do with the crystals now?"

"I think the apprentices usually take them to Sergius."

"…Who?"

"Sergius. Sergius Turrianus. The College Enchanter. He should be in the Hall of Elements somewhere. Yes, just take them to him. He might even give you something for them."

"In…the Hall of Elements?"

"Yes," the magister insisted, losing patience. "Across the courtyard. The first floor. The first room."

Deanne continued to hesitate, even to turn toward the door. "How do I find him?" She didn't know the Magister—or Enchanter. How was she to locate him?

"Just walk in and shout a bit. He's usually there. Or someone will find him for you. Well, go on, then. Now that the focus points are cleansed there are some very delicate experiments that need to be progressed." With that he turned his back and returned to his chamber to continue whatever he'd been doing before.

Deanne stood there for a long moment, then turned slowly and made her way out the door. For the third time in the last hour, she paused at the midpoint of her usual path and turned toward the rushing of the courtyard's focus point. The door to the College proper was straight ahead, wasn't it? It would make sense. Everything symmetrical, both Halls located precisely on either side of the entrance gate, which was itself the start of a path directly up to the courtyard focus point. In fact, the doors to the College proper might be the same thirty one steps beyond the courtyard focus point that she'd taken to reach it. Might be.

The woman reached up and gripped a handful of her fur mantle. She could try for the College proper. Try to reach the Hall of Elements, as the Magister had said. …Or maybe she could just go back to her room, tuck the crystals into one of the many empty storage places and ask Colette for help finding this Enchanter Sergius later. Or maybe just give them to Enthir. Maybe he would want them.

She whimpered and her hands leapt up to cover her face. This was ridiculous. Most people, whenever they thought about bravery, thought about something fantastic: exploring the world, achieving a great feat, battling a ferocious beast. Deanne's act of bravery was crossing a courtyard. A courtyard she'd lived and walked alongside for over a month now!

For the second time today, she shook off her reservations and forced her shoulders straight. She could do this. She needed to do this. It wasn't so hard. It…it couldn't be that hard.

One foot after another, her feet carried her forward thirty one steps to the focus point in the College courtyard. She traced the edge to the other side and stood facing outward on the other side. She needed another breath…and stepped forward.

Four steps. Ten steps. Twenty. Twenty—Oof! Her toe stubbed on a step at twenty eight and Deanne almost went sprawling forward. The next movements were careful. Without damaging herself further, she ascended the five wide steps and finally laid her hand on a great wooden doorway. The College was inside. The real College. The one where all the students went to take classes. Where all the Magisters gathered to teach. This was it. Before uncertainty could drive her back, Deanne pushed the door open and entered.

It was enormous. Deanne stood just inside the door and could hear the wind beating against glass windows…an almost impossible distance away. She reached up to grip the fur of her mantle, drawing strength from it as she strained her ears for every detail. It was like the ocean. She could imagine how high the walls stood outside, but it was hard to make it out precisely with the winds whipping around like they did. Not here. Here, in the quiet, every sound and echo helped outline an enormous space in her mind: a large antechamber, a high open doorway ahead, the expansive 'Hall of the Elements' beyond. She could _hear _just how large it was.

Deanne took small steps forward, measuring distance out of habit somewhere in the back of her mind. By the Eight, it was huge! It had to be as big as the Temple back in Skingrad. Bigger even. With a ceiling just as tall. She stood there marveling, feeling the precise dimensions by which she was dwarfed by this place. This had to take up such a large part of the College building. Or…maybe it didn't. Just how big was this place?

At some point, her mind finally dredged up why she was here. Oh, yes. The crystals in the bag that was making her shoulder hurt. Right.

"Uh…Enchanter Sergius?" Her voice echoed, wrapping around pillars that ringed the great Hall. But no one answered. "Enchanter Sergius!" A sound surfaced somewhere on the room's other side. She raised her voice a bit more. "Enchanter—."

"He's not here!"

She stopped up, flushing and dropping her head. "I…I'm sorry. To disturb you." She knew the voice. A magister, but she didn't know the name. He did Conjuration, she thought. "Do you know here I can find him?"

"No. Try the Arcanaeum. He could be there."

"The…Arcanaeum? Where is that?"

He sounded demanding and impatient, but more intensely than Magister Neloran. "Turn around. First door on your right. And don't shout! There are people working around here you know."

"S-sorry, Magister," she insisted and scurried back the way she'd come, along the wall to find the door he meant. By the Eight, she hated being on people's bad sides. It still terrified her to have people unhappy with her.

First door, first door—ah! She opened it and found a stairway up, spiraled, not unlike the stairways up and down the Halls of Attainment and Countenance. She counted the steps downward until coming to another door. There seemed to be a large hallway beyond. No windows, which limited her scope of the space. And she feared to shout again.

Wait, there were sounds. Muffled, as though from behind a doorway. She made her way carefully along one wall, brushing fingers over a tapestry, a door, and a display case before coming to the one behind which there seemed to be people. There wasn't anyone else around. Should she open it? Disturb someone for the sake of directions?

No other choice, really. She didn't know where she was.

Deanne knocked gently on the door. The voices didn't change, so she chanced opening it a little. The voices continued, clustered together in the center of the room perhaps the size of the antechamber downstairs. It smelled like honey and smoke. And it was particularly cold. She had the door well open before she was noticed.

"What do you want? Can't you see we're working?" Rundi. One of the apprentices.

Oh no. More people she'd interrupted. "S-sorry. I'm looking for the Arcaneum."

"Well it's not in here," he pointed out.

Habit told her to apologize and close the door immediately. But more recent events gave her courage enough to ask, "Can you tell me where it is?"

His brother, Borvir, the other voice in the room, responded, "The door across the hall. Can't miss it."

"Thank you." She hadn't even closed the door before their voices rose in argument again.

By the Eight, she was going to go hide in her room for a week after this. But _after _this. After she found the Arcaneum and Enchanter Sergius.

But then she was definitely going to hide herself away for a while.

Across the hall. Across the hall. With a hand against the stone on one side, she kept going across the hall to the other side where she found another door. And another set of stairs behind it. She kept careful count as she went up and opened the next door to find another hallway. Was this the Arcaneum? There were no more sounds here than there had been below. Should she shout? Maybe just a little investigation first.

She skirted the wall and found a few doorways. Trying them, she found them locked. And nothing distinct about the room. In fact, it seemed sparse.

"What are you doing there?!"

Deanne jumped and spun around toward the voice as footsteps stalked toward her. "I—I was—"

"This area is restricted. What are you doing here?"

She shrank from a very tall person whose tone was sharp enough to carve her up into pieces. "I…I'm just looking for the Arcanaeum."

"Oh, I'm sure that you are. And what is this here?" He made a grab for her bag and yanked it open. "Quite a few soul gems you have here. What are they for?"

Deanne was shaking at this point. "N-nothing. I didn't even know they were soul gems."

"Didn't know? Ha! Just what sort of a half-wit are you trying to impersonate?" He seized her arm and threw the mantle from her head. "An ignorant apprentice wandering a restricted area with a surplus of large soul gems. Unlikely. I will know why you are here and I will know now!"

"I'm not doing anything here! I didn't know it was restricted." She squirmed in his grip, his hand was thin and his finger were long but they had the strength of steel wire. Words streamed out of her mouth, desperately trying to explain herself. "I was looking for Enchanter Sergius. I cleaned these out of the focus points a little while ago. I didn't know they were soul gems! Magister Neloran said I should take them to Enchanter Sergius. He wasn't in the Hall of Elements. Someone said he might be in the Arcaneum. I'm just trying to find it!"

"Who told you?"

"I…I didn't get his name. He might still be in the Hall downstairs."

"And I'm certain he would be, this person with no name."

She squirmed against his grip. "Let me go. You're hurting me."

The man tightened his fingers instead. "Not until I am convinced you are…not a danger to this College," he sneered. "I have not seen you on the grounds. Give me your name."

"Deanne. My name's Deanne."

"Hm…the blind 'Ward' of the College. And just why would Magister Neloran entrust the cleansing of his focus points to you?"

"Ilas-Tei didn't have time. I just wanted to help." She tried to pull away and was unable. "Please, sir. I won't come up here again. I swear, I didn't know where I was!"

He seemed set on disbelieving her. She felt his white hot glare on her, the harsh contempt before he even said a word. "And I'm sure you'd like me to believe that. If you think your being a 'Ward' exempts you from the rules, you are quite wrong." He squeezed his fingers cruelly around her arm and bent down to hiss into her ear, "I will be watching you. Be certain of that." Another twist drew a whimper of pain from her, and the instant he loosened his grip she pulled away and fled back the way she'd come, almost tripping down the stairs in her haste.

No more. She'd give the crystals—soul gems—to Colette the next chance she got. Now she just wanted out of here and back to her room. There were bad people in this place. She didn't want to be alone to encounter any more of them!

Down the stairs, she came out into the hall and crossed it to the next flight. She was well down it, tears in her eyes, before she realized—this was more stair than there should have been. Many more steps. Oh, no…this was the wrong stair! She'd taken the wrong stair!

Deanne quickly reversed her path and went back up, then felt along the side of the wall for what should have been a tapestry followed by a table. But instead there was a bookshelf first. Oh, no! This hallway was unfamiliar. She hadn't been here before.

She froze on the spot, shaking with fear. Where was she? She couldn't tell. She thought she'd come down the right stair, but there must have been another. The only way to know was to retrace her steps up the flight ahead and back to the restricted hallway—where that cruel man may still be. Or someone worse. Deanne shook even harder. No, no she couldn't go back up there. Not again. She didn't dare.

The blind woman remained where she was, afraid to move. She was lost. Or almost. Almost lost. Oh, this was a nightmare too familiar to her! A terror that plagued her life: to be alone and lose her way. She…She had to get back to the Hall of Elements. That room was recognizable. It was enormous. She had to get there eventually. And there were people here, weren't there? Someone who would help.

Or she might find more like the man upstairs. Deanne's eyes stung and her arm throbbed where he'd gripped her intentionally hard. She had to get out of here. But not back up the restricted hallway. She'd…she'd just have to go down. And then find a stairway up again. Or something.

So…she went down. Back down the stairway, this time all the way to the bottom, measuring its dimensions and trying to build an elevation map of where she'd been before. The next hallway was unfamiliar as well. And with no one in it. She kept her hands against the wall, trying to memorize the spacing between furniture and doors and everything. This hallway was curved. Then there was a turn. But she kept going. What else could she do?

There was another stairway, this one was spiraled. She counted the steps: spacing and height. Where was she? Anywhere near the Hall of Elements. Another hallway. Up. Down. Turn right. Curve left. A tapestry with fringe.

"Hello?"

Three doors. Two bookshelves five levels high. The ones in the last hall had been four.

"Is there anyone here?!"

Her face heated up and her throat cinched to keep from crying. Where was she? The terror behind that question fueled her on. Where was she? This place was too big! Where was she? Where was she? Where was she?!

She lost track of things. Of turns and numbers of stairs. Every step heightened her panic. Every echo in the halls reminded her she was alone. Every new landmark was proof that she was lost, lost, _lost_!

When the wall to her right abruptly vanished, she snapped. A hopeless wail dragged from throat before she could stop it and she collapsed to her knees, broken even of her desperation. Alone. Lost. She curled over her knees on the cold stone, crying and unable to stop. Alone. Lost. Alone and lost!

Her sobbing disturbed her surroundings. Someone approached, demanding firmly in an unfamiliar voice, "See here. What's this, then?"

Deanne jerked and tried to bottle down on her weeping, a weeping whose cork could not be replaced. Fear of the person she'd disturbed drove words from her mouth, the woman almost shrieking in desperation to prove them true. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I—I don't—I didn't mean to—" A fresh wave of flush flooded her face and the tears spilled forth anew. "I don't know where I am! I can't find my way. I just want to go back to the Hall!_ I just want to go back!_" Her Hall. Her home Hall. She just wanted to go back to her little room and stay there and never leave it again! Deanne's spine went limp and she slumped forward, crying uncontrollably regardless of the fact that she now had an audience.

Her sudden breakdown was certainly not what this person had expected. In fact, he seemed at a complete loss, shifting back and forth on his feet, perhaps looking around in search of guidance from his surroundings.

"…Uh…ehm…There, there. It's…alright."

The words came out mechanical. Scripted, at best. Something someone ought to say in this sort of situation, but had never actually had to do before. The same could be said for the awkward pats on her shoulder that came next.

She would have stopped if she could. Truly. But at this point her panic had full reign and would not be denied until it had run its course.

The man was still trying to scrape together what he was supposed to be doing. "Ehmm… W-why don't you just sit down over here? A bench would be preferable to the floor, I think?"

Deanne's head bobbled on her neck, though standing proved a challenge. Her audience assisted, hands splayed around her shoulders to help her up. It was only semi-effective. His attempts at 'care-giving' were stunted as he seemed unsure whether she was going to break or bite him.

They reached the bench, which she promptly fell against when her knees met it. The sobbing had mellowed to whimpering which she still couldn't seem to stop.

He didn't sit with her, still searching for direction. "…Here…" She felt a small square of cloth put into her hands and used it to wipe her eyes. With her finally quieted, the man felt brave enough to take a seat beside her, if stiffly.

Deanne's whimpering diminished further, finally down to shaky breaths and the occasional hiccup. The man had yet to attempt to break the silence. She drew her knees together and shrank into as small a space she could possibly occupy, ashamed of her outburst and still quite frightened with her situation. "I'm sorry. For all of this."

"Yes, I believe you. It's quite alright." Again, scripted words. But she got the sense they weren't insincere, just unpracticed. They sat there quietly for a while longer, awkwardly on his part while Deanne focused on calming herself down and not making this terrible first impression any worse. "The College is quite large," he commented abruptly. "I myself lost my way often enough in the beginning. Wound up down in the Midden one day while trying to find the Atrium. Would you believe it?"

A laugh burst out of her, more on account of his attempt to lighten things rather than the anecdote itself. He forced a chuckled himself and when they fell quiet again, the air was less weighted.

After another minute or so of silence, he asked, "So, where were you meaning to go?"

"The Arcaneum. I was trying to find Enchanter Sergius and heard he might be there." She shifted the bag on her shoulder into her lap to display the contents. "I was going to give him these. Magister Neloran said he would want them."

"My, that is quite a number of soul gems. How did you come by all these?"

The accusations in the restricted hallway summoned a quick defense. "I didn't know they were soul gems! I got them out of the focus points when Magister Neloran asked me to cleanse them. I was just going to take them to Enchanter Sergius. That was all—!"

"Alright, alright, I believe you," he hurried to sooth, right back to the awkward 'first-time-caretaker' treatment. "And Sergius will certainly find use for these. It's alright."

Deanne shrank inward, embarrassed with her behavior again. "I'm sorry… I told someone else and they thought I was lying. He…" Her eyes teared up and she touched her arm where she could already feel the bruise developing. "He hurt me. I ended up in a restricted area, but I didn't know! He thought I was there on purpose and—he grabbed me. I tried to tell him, but he wouldn't believe me—"

"Who? Who hurt you?" This seemed to draw his interest more intensely.

"I…I don't know. He was tall. His hands were thin, and long. So was his voice. And harsh."

"Well what did he look like?"

"...Uh…I don't know." Deanne wrung a handful of her mantle. "I…I'm blind."

"You're…Ah!" he cried in realization. "You are our new Ward. Deanne, yes?" Deanne nodded in response. "We have not met. I apologize. I have been meaning to come down and introduce myself but… Well, time can get away from you sometimes and I haven't had any to spare lately. It is good to finally meet you. We haven't had a Ward of the College in some time. Since I can remember, actually. Usually they simply enroll as apprentices and have done with it. And you are assisting Neloran, did you say?"

"Yes, sir."

"'Sir'? How quaint. Very good. It is always best to keep busy. And assisting with the upkeep of the College is a most worthwhile endeavor."

She smiled softly, feeling so much more at ease now that he had begun speaking more freely. Not that she wasn't still mortified about how she'd come in here. "I'm glad I can help. I don't want to be a burden here." She wrung the handkerchief in her hands. "I so sorry about coming in here like that. I know I should have asked someone to bring me. But I didn't want to bother anyone. And I thought maybe I could find my way if I was just careful…" She twisted the cloth more tightly. "I'm always afraid of getting lost on my own."

"Completely understandable. You'll be sure to be more careful in the future, I'm sure." He stood up. "But you were not so far away. There is a stair down to the Arcaneum right here, in fact."

Deanne sat up in surprise. "There is?"

"Yes, so that the Archmage has direct access to our resources. And, like my predecessors, I have found it quite advantageous to have direct access to it from my chambers."

"Your chambers?"

"Quite. I will admit your interruption was…unexpected. But not terribly disruptive."

Deanne's mind stilled and made the connections slowly. "These are your…_You're the Archmage._"

She heard the amusement in his words. "Quite."

Her heart hammered. "And these are your…" The shock snapped her spine straight. "I'm so sorry! I just barged in here like that and—I am so sorry—."

"Now, now," he reassured her again, firmly. "You have apologized a great deal already, and I quite believe you. There was no harm done. But in the future, you should ask the assistance of someone until you know your way, hm?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely," Deanne responded immediately.

He chuckled lightly. "Now then, let's see about getting you where you need to be, shall we?"

She nodded hurriedly, unable to speak. By the Eight, she couldn't even—She'd stumbled into the _Archmage's chambers_, of all places. And like _that_. If she dropped dead now, it would be a mercy.

The Archmage put a hand against her shoulder. "It's just this way. I'll take you myself so you do not lose your way between here and there."

Deanne bobbed her head again and pulled her mantle back over her head before standing and reaching out. He looped her hand around his arm and added, "And should you come across this man again who hurt you, get his name and inform me. I'll have a word with him."

"Thank you, sir."

Deanne clung to his arm with one hand and to a handful of her mantle with the other, keeping her head down to hide her deeply flushed face as he took her across the room and down a set of spiral stairs. She was being escorted by the Archmage after having burst into his chamber, hysterical from getting lost her first time in the College proper. She was never, ever, _ever_ leaving her room again. Not ever!

**Oh, poor Deanne! See, kids? That's what happens when you go adventuring. You meet mean people and somehow end up in strange people's bedrooms. Stay at home! Get Netflix and Skyrim. You'll be safe forever.**

**Wow, I'm funny today. Don't judge me, I'm having fun!**

**I**** hope you're enjoying the ride, too. I'll see you next week with an update.**


	18. New Voices

**Huzzah! Happy weekend, everyone! Enjoy the chapter.**

Deanne held onto the Archmage's arm tightly as they proceeded down the stairs from his chambers to the Arcaneum. She would be sure she kept this path very clear in her mind… so that she never came back this way again!

For all that she'd stumbled into his chambers the way she had, the Archmage was incredibly forgiving, speaking now as though their meeting had been perfectly respectable. "So then, how are you finding the College? Aside from this particularly unpleasant experience, of course."

"It's fine."

"Only fine?"

Deanne reached for a better answer. "I'm very glad to be here, sir. I truly am. It just…difficult. Not knowing anyone very well. And I don't have a lot of experience making friends or doing magic. If it weren't for my father…" That made her pause, but she pressed on quickly, "…if it weren't for my father, I don't see any reason I would be here. I'm grateful. I just don't feel I have much to offer in return all you have given me."

He accepted this answer better than the last. "I'm certain you will find your place here in time. Perhaps if you were to attend a few classes, sample the schools of magic, you might find one that appeals to you."

"Magister Colette is teaching me Restoration," Deanne offered.

"Well, there you are. And are you enjoying it?" the Archmage asked.

"Yes, sir. I like knowing I'll be able to help if someone gets hurt. On the way here, my escort and I were attacked. He was hurt. I healed him as much as I could, but my magicka ran out quickly and…I remember wishing I could have been able to do more."

The Archmage replied, "Ah yes. One's magicka pool is as vital a resource as any spell. And deepening your reserves can only benefit you in the long run."

Deane agreed whole-heartedly, but… "I'm just not sure how, though."

"You push your limits. In fact, increasing one's magicka is one of the easier things to do. And sadly, one that too many young mages neglect. The requirement is not skill, but patience and discipline– interestingly enough, precisely the qualities that youths lack when they have the most need to be practicing them. Rather paradoxical, isn't it?"

"How? What do you have to do?" The question was out of her mouth before she realized _who_ she was asking for magical instruction and pinched her lips together.

He chuckled, perhaps at her eagerness and abrupt cut off. "The same way you might strengthen a muscle: you make use of it, regularly, pushing your limit each time. In this case, it is easy enough: you cast a spell until your magicka pool runs dry. Then, you do it again. And again. Pushing yourself to the limit each time. And over time, I promise you, your reserves will grow to accommodate the strain. It is a simple thing. And any spell will do. But it takes patience and discipline. The results, however, are well worth it."

The Archmage opened the door at the bottom of the stair and brought her out into a hallway that sounded like all the others while she listened intently to him. "The more advanced spells of any school require a great deal of magicka. A mage who has spent their time studying, but failed to attend to their magicka pool will be unable to progress. Even if they know the intricacies of the advanced spells inside and out, they will lack the capability to cast them. On the reverse, you will find that as your magicka pool increases, the casting of low level spells will not be such a strain and so will be of a lesser benefit for the exercise. Therefore, as your pool increases, you will need to seek out more advanced spells in order to reach your limits once again."

Deanne fell into thought. That…that was something she could do. She hadn't realized it was so easy. And any spell, right? Deanne spent enough time sitting alone, passing the time by listening to what was going on around her or knitting. That time could just as easily be spent casting a healing spell into the air. Or something.

The Archmage spoke again after giving her time to turn his instruction over in her mind. "I am pleased Colette has found an eager student."

"I also make potions for her. For her time," Deanne said, wanting to provide some form of worth.

That drew his interest. "You study alchemy?"

"A little. On my own. I was told no one really practices here."

He made a sound of disappointment. "That is true. And without any colleagues likewise studying the field, I find my own skills falling lax."

"You study alchemy?" she asked, turning the question back on him.

His reply was brighter. "I do indeed. Although perhaps 'study' is an overstatement. I dabble. I have little time for anything more, what with my responsibilities as Archmage. It is remarkable, though, is it not? That one can condense the properties of nature into a bottle, and refine them into a useful form. And I find the act of potion making quite therapeutic."

Deanne felt the corners of her mouth lift. That did sound familiar.

Over the course of their conversation, Deanne and the Archmage had come a long way down the hall. There was no way for her to tell if this was one she'd been in before or not; they all had the same ambient sounds. After several yards he guided her to the left and opened a door. Deanne immediately caught the scent of leather and paper that permeated the room beyond. An enormous number of books absorbed the sound within, muffling voices and the quiet flutter of paper and bindings; a far less oppressive atmosphere than the hall outside. Warm, still, quiet and welcoming in its own way, like a gentle giant.

"Here we are. The Arcaneum," the Archmage said. Even he spoke more softly in this place, perhaps out of respect for all the knowledge it held.

Deanne saddened a little, knowing it was all knowledge she would never be privy to.

The Archmage drew her forward, walking slowly, perhaps surveying the room for their quarry. "Ah. Sergius." There was a low, airy grunt ahead, and the Archmage's path became more direct. As they came to a stop, he said, "Deanne, this is Sergius Turrianus. Our Master Enchanter. Sergius, this is Deanne, our Ward. She's been looking for you."

The man before them huffed with disinterest. "Another eager young mage who wants their enchanting done for them, I suppose."

"What?" Deanne started. "No, I..." Another person immediately displeased with her. Deanne let go of the Archmage's arm and wrested the bag off of her shoulder, holding it out to the man she'd come seeking, eager to get this task finished with and go back to the safety of the Hall of Attainment. "I came to give you these."

Enchanter Sergius heaved another breath over his work, stirring papers, and lifted himself out of his seat with a winded vocalization as though it was the single most difficult thing that could be asked of him. Deanne held very still while the Enchanter took his time standing, turning and then plodding within reach.

When the weight was taken from her hands, she felt the rushed need to explain. "They're soul gems. From the focal points. The ones in the Halls and the courtyard. Magister Neloran said you could use them."

She heard the shift of fabric as the bag was opened and the faint clinking of the contents against each other as they were surveyed. "Quite a lot of soul gems. And well developed." Alright, he sounded less dispassionate now. At least for a moment. Then he sighed again. "I suppose I owe you some trinket or other for this, do I?"

Deanne didn't understand. And really, she didn't care. She was just ready for this day to be over. "No. I just wanted to bring them to you. That was all." She turned back toward the Archmage. "I'd like to go back to the Hall of Attainment now. Please. I…I know I've taken a lot of your time already but…could you show me the way out? Or ask someone else to? I just need to get to the front door. Please, that's all."

"Of course. This has been quite the adventure for you already—Ah! Mirabelle. You have impeccable timing."

Deanne recognized the strident woman when she spoke, having approached from further within the Arcaneum. "Archmage," she greeted him. "I see you've met our newest addition."

"I have indeed. The girl was lost and wandered into my chambers," he replied, a slight amusement in his voice. "But we have it sorted out. Would you see her back to the apprentices' hall, then?"

"Of course, Archmage."

The head of the College turned toward Deanne and she felt her hand taken and clasped between them. "It was a pleasure to meet you, Deanne. Perhaps we'll have another chance to speak in the future."

Deanne bent her head and dipped into a shallow curtsey. "Yes, sir. And thank you for being so understanding. I promise it won't happen again."

He chuckled, although she didn't know why for, and patted her hand gently before releasing it and turning to leave.

Mirabelle stepped up to the young woman at that point. "Let's get you back where you should be." She reached and took Deanne's arm to guide her out, and Deanne yelped in surprise and pain, shrinking and angling away to shield the bruise that Mirabelle had had the misfortune to touch.

The Archmage recalled the cause and paused in his departure. "Ah, yes. It seemed someone rough-handled her earlier. She did not get a name. They were thin and long in hand and voice. Yes?"

"Yes, sir," Deanne replied, gently touching her arm. Hearing him say it aloud, she realized how ridiculous her description had been.

Deanne started and relaxed when she felt healing magic fall on her shoulder and begin soaking into her arm, the pain of the bruise warming and dulling. And making Magister Mirabelle cross as she felt the extent of the damage. "This is unacceptable."

"It was a restricted hallway," Deanne said, afraid of tossing blame about and becoming a further source of trouble in the College. "I didn't know, and—"

"You hardly meant to be there, did you?" Mirabelle pointed out.

"No."

"And that was excessive treatment for a member of the College over a mistaken location. Unacceptable." The spell faded, leaving only a dull ache behind that would likely fade by the following day. "But you do not have a name."

"No, ma'am."

"Hm. Well, should you come across this person again, get the name and tell me. This sort of behavior cannot be allowed at the College, by anyone. There is enough room for harm here with magic alone without allowing physical assaults to go unrecognized."

"Yes, ma'am," Deanne replied automatically. She hadn't expected such a swift and decisive defense.

The Archmage seemed pleased, though. "Good. I leave this in your hands, Mirabelle. But keep me informed. Sergius. Deanne." With that, he proceeded through back through the Arcaneum and out of its doors.

Mirabelle stepped up to Deanne and took her arm again, more gently this time, even with the bruise gone. "Let's go then. Good day to you, Sergius."

There was another grunt from the Enchanter, now reseated at the table, and Deanne followed the Magister's lead in the same direction the Archmage had just taken.

Once out in the hallway, Mirabelle had some things to say. "I should like to know how you came to be in the Archmage's quarters."

Deanne shrunk inward at the veiled accusation. Another person displeased with her actions. "I got lost. I came into the College to find Enchanter Sergius to give him the soul gems from cleansing the focal points. Then I took a wrong stair and I got all turned around and..." She clamped down on remnants of her hysteria before they could bubble up. "I didn't mean to, I swear. Every door was like another. I didn't know where I was—I didn't even know who _he_ was until he told me."

"Alright, alright, just calm down." Her insistence had more finality than the Archmage's awkward attempts. "I just want to make it clear that you are not to bother the Archmage unless absolutely necessary. He has expressed interest in knowing who did you harm, and frankly it is a sensible request. But you will inform _me_, and I will pass the information along after that. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. In the meantime, I expect you to have someone with you when next you decide to wander the College."

"Yes, ma'am. The Archmage said the same. And I will, I promise." She didn't want another repeat of this any more than they did.

"Good."

They took a stairway down at the end of the hall, again, with no way of telling if this had been one of the hallways Deanne had rushed down during her…'adventure'. Once down the first, they immediately turned and went down a second, then came out into the distinctive, expansive Hall of Elements. Deanne was all too shocked. One stairway. One turn. That was all it took for her to lose her way in a maze of halls. She ducked her head, hiding her shameful blush beneath her mantle and clung firmly to Mirabelle's arm.

They made for the door when Mirabelle stiffened. The source of her reaction proved to be the person walking toward them from within the Hall itself. And whose voice immediately chilled Deanne's blood.

"Mirabelle. I need a word with you."

The man from the restricted hallway. The one who'd hurt and frightened her, his voice as cold and harsh as the winds outside. Deanne shrank back and a little behind the lady Magister, tugging on her sleeve and whispering, "That's him. The man in the restricted hallway. _That's him_!"

Mirabelle's already stiff shoulders set even further. Deanne couldn't tell to what end, though.

The man came up to them, continuing to speak. "It's a matter of my access to—"

"Another time," Mirabelle said, cutting him off. "Am I correct that you encountered Deanne earlier?" The young woman shrank back as far as she could while still keeping tight hold of Mirabelle's arm.

Under his decorum, she could hear a sneer. "Indeed I did. The girl was attempting to gain access to areas of the College she had no business being in. When I detained her, she made excuses. Poor excuses given she was carrying an inordinate number of large soul gems."

His explanation sounded perfectly valid, spoken as a concerned member of the College. But even with the propriety, Mirabelle was not convinced. "I treated the result of your 'detainment'. You left a bruise across half of her arm. That is not a 'detainment', that is an assault."

The man's tonality harshened, more akin to how he'd spoken to Deanne when he'd found her. "I had cause. I was concerned for the security of—"

"May I remind you, Ancano, that you are a guest of the College, here at the pleasure of the Archmage. And being one of the Thalmor does not permit you to mistreat members of this College, nor to take matters into your own hands when you have 'concerns'. Such 'concerns' should be brought to my attention, or that of the Archmage, and we will mete out punishments as we deem necessary. Consider this a warning. Should another of these incidents be brought to my attention, you will not need to be concerned with your access any longer. Am I clear?"

The man, Ancano, could be heard to steam, even in the silence, standing there before them, considering whether or not the matter was worth arguing further. Deanne kept quiet and very small, her head down, more than a little glad she didn't need to avoid meeting the eyes of this one. Although she could feel them glaring down at her.

Ultimately, the man decided this matter was not worth the effort. "Of course." Permissive, passive, and perfectly polite.

"Good. Then we are done here." Without another word, Mirabelle walked straight toward the front door of the Hall of Elements with Deanne in tow, leaving Ancano as if he no longer existed.

Deanne didn't speak. At least not until they were outside and well past the courtyard's focal point. "I'm sorry if I caused trouble."

"Not at all. The rules of the College apply to all. Doubly so to guests, in fact. And preventing purposeful harm to others is one of our foremost concerns." They walked well out into the snowy weather, skirting the courtyard's focal point. In the time it took to pass it, Mirabelle made the decision to add, "Ancano has already taken to testing the limits of our system and hospitality. If he should make an attempt to threaten you in the future, physically or verbally, you are to tell me immediately. Do you understand? I need to know if he crosses the lines we've set."

"Yes, ma'am." Deanne needed that reassurance.

Altogether, this had been more than just a full day. Borderline traumatic, really. The meeting with Ancano alone would have made for a blackened experience. Add to that getting lost on her first attempt at self-sufficiency, bursting into the Archmage's private chambers and proceeding to spiral down to rock bottom right in front of the leader of the entire College…! No, she wasn't leaving her room again for a good long while.

Mirabelle brought her into the Hall, and then around to that blessed doorway. After a few assurances that Deanne would be alright in her own room, Mirabelle left to go about her business. For all that it was a terribly immature thing to do, Deanne climbed into her bed as soon as she was alone, wrapping herself up in her fur mantle and burying herself beneath her blankets. It got warm fast, but she didn't care. Familiar, safe, contained space. This was good. Even if she couldn't imagine sleeping any time soon this was still very, very good.

Further reassurance appeared with Faralda's intonation at the door. "Deanne?" The younger woman peaked her head out from beneath the covers in response to the call and received a sigh of relief in return. "I just heard. Are you alright?"

Deanne sat up, pushing back the weighty duvet and tugging her mantle up to hold its comfort close. No need to hide her face in front of someone who'd been there for her often already. "I'm fine now. Um…what exactly did you hear about?" There was so much to choose from—

"Ancano." Well, that did narrow it down. Faralda came over and her weight sank onto the bedside. "I know he is insufferable, but I can hardly believe he'd be so…Are you alright?" Deanne felt her arm taken, gently, and healing magic seep into the flesh already mended, the additional restoration magic skirting off without affect.

"I'm alright, Magister Faralda. Truly. Just…There was too much today. With the focal points and getting lost and meeting the Archmage—" Deanne had to breath deeply to settle herself again at the recollection. "I'm just glad to be back here. I don't think I'm going to leave my room for a while." Even just admitting such to someone, especially a learned magister, made her feel her shortcomings.

"I understand. I can't imagine how terrifying it must have been for you." Her hand remained on Deanne's arm, even after the casting of a spell. It was a welcome comfort. Faralda's warm voice became serious as, after another moment, she said firmly, "Listen to me. If Ancano speaks to you again, about anything, I want you to come and tell me right away. If I'm not in my chamber, just stay there and wait for me. Consider it a safe haven from him. He tried snooping through there at one point and… Well. He knows better now." There was a dangerous edge to the Magister's words there at the end.

Deanne was a little surprised at how insistent Faralda was. "Magister Mirabelle said the same thing. About telling her if he did anything."

"Did she? Good." That last word...Again, just a hint at something volatile beneath the surface. But at least it seemed directed toward Deanne's protection.

"Do you think he'll do something?"

"I don't know. But he might. And if he does, you must tell either me or Mirabelle right away." Faralda leaned forward and cupped the younger woman's hand tenderly. "You're a sweet girl, Deanne. And I know you don't want to be a bother. But understand that he'll use that against you, if he thinks he can get something out of it. He'll talk to you and make you think that anything you say will be used against you or simply ignored. And once he has, he's likely to bully you because he'll know you won't say anything to anyone."

Deanne squeezed the Magister's hand fearfully. "You think so?" He's been rough with her before when he thought she'd trespassed on purpose. But would he really target her just because?

"Perhaps. He might not. He might ignore you. We could all be so lucky. But if he _does _speak to you again and you come away feeling frightened or uncomfortable, it doesn't matter what was said, tell me or Mirabelle." Faralda sharpened again as she continued, "I don't trust that mer. He claims to only be here to advise the Archmage, but I don't think anyone believes that. Except, perhaps, the Archmage himself. Whatever the reason he's here, it's not good."

Deanne was worried now. Faralda made it sound like they had an enemy in their midst. "Why do you think he's here, really? Who is he?"

"He's a member of the Thalmor. Not a promising introduction. As for why he's here? My best guess would be to spy. To see what sort of power and knowledge we keep within these walls and if it's worth acquiring for his superiors."

"But I thought the Empire was allied with the Thalmor. Why would they be spying?"

Faralda chuckled sadly and brushed Deanne's hair back from her face gently. "Oh, you are a sweet girl. Things in Tamriel are…a bit more complicated than that." She let her hand fall and took a more formal countenance. "Ancano is here for his own purposes. Or at least for the good of the Thalmor. Nothing more. He may not have done anything outright suspicious, but he's been consistently aversive. That's enough to make me wary. And Mirabelle, too, it seems."

"She said he's…'tested the limits of your hospitality'," Deanne offered.

"That he has," Faralda replied, more thoughtfully. "And that she said this to you should tell you how seriously you need to take the warning." She shifted forward and her tone warmed again, "And that I'm saying it to you should tell you how much we're concerned for your well-being. So, if he says or does anything to make you even slightly uncomfortable…"

"Come tell you right away," Deanne repeated dutifully.

Faralda really was concerned for her, wasn't she? Deanne hadn't ever known someone so outright caring like this. Well, Vilkas had been like that. But he wasn't here anymore. Deanne's father had protected her, more often than not, by shielding her from danger. The priesthood and the like in the Chapel of Stendarr in Skingrad had likewise limited Deanne's access and actions to keep her from harm. Faralda's protection was more a safety net, a promise of support in time of need without placing restrictions on Deanne's life as a whole. The younger woman realized how great a declaration of confidence this was, in Deanne's ability to take responsibility for herself. The faith.

Deanne squeezed Faralda's hand tightly and had to tighten her throat against the swell of emotion that rose. "Thank you, Magister. Thank you, so much."

"Please, Deanne. Faralda," the magister insisted with a smile in her voice. "You're much too proper." She stood up off the bed and shifted the covers back into place. "But you've had a long day, from what I can understand. Cleansing the focal points and meeting the Archmage? You'll need to tell me the whole story. But not now." Deanne lay back when prompted and felt Faralda lay a hand gently on her forehead as the magister said, "Get some rest. I'll come by tomorrow."

"Thank you, mag—Faralda."

The magister might even have stayed if Deanne asked it. But, as it turned out, the familiar surroundings and the concerned reassurances were enough to ease her mind from the day's events.

XXX

Faralda did come by the next day to check on her. And so did Brelyna, oddly enough. Deanne soon found herself seated with the apprentice in her room, which Deanne was loath to leave for a while yet, talking over a simple meal of bread and cheese and tea. In fact, Deanne was convinced to recount the entire progression of events from the previous day, a night's sleep having provided a decent distance between her and it. And it was pleasant to have someone to talk to, just in general.

"I know what they mean about Ancano," Brelyna said. "I swear, whenever he looks at me I can't tell if he thinks I'm going to blow myself up or try and murder him."

Deanne was taken aback by the vehemence. "You wouldn't murder him." She wouldn't, would she? How could that even be a possibility for anyone here?

"Well, no. Of course I wouldn't. I'm just saying, he clearly doesn't trust any of us." She sipped her tea and then asked, "So you didn't ask Sergius for anything? After all you went through?"

"No. Really, it's alright. I don't need soul gems. And at that point I just wanted to get back to the Hall. I didn't want anything else."

Brelyna was disbelieving. "You could have asked for _something_. You're going to keep cleansing the focal points, right?"

Deanne considered, mapping in her mind the path to her drawer where she'd tucked the gloves. "I suppose so. Magister Neloran didn't ask for the gloves back. I'm not an apprentice, so I have the time. And it's not so difficult… Yes, I think I will. Unless someone asks me to stop."

"And you're going to keep giving the soul gems to Sergius, right?"

"Yes. Unless someone else asks for them."

Brelyna set her cup down on the table, saying "You know, Deanne, if you keep giving things away like you do, people might take it as permission to walk all over you. I'm just saying."

"I like what I have," Deanne insisted. "Really. I don't need anything else."

Her companion was not to be deterred. "But if you had to ask for something. If you _needed _to pick _something _in return, what would it be? There has to be something."

Deanne ran her fingers over the surface of her cup, tracing the textural edges of the designs there while she thought. "Well…I learn Restoration from Colette for my potions. Do you think he might teach me a little about Enchanting if I keep giving him the soul gems I collect?"

Brelyna brightened thoughtfully at the response. "Maybe. You'd probably have to convince him, though. I haven't dealt with him much, but he's a textbook curmudgeon from what I've heard."

"I noticed," Deanne agreed morosely, recalling the Enchanter's attitude. "He seemed pleased about the soul gems. But right afterward, he became sour and thought I'd want something enchanted."

"Well of course he did. It's probably all anyone asks. I think he's the one who handles enchanting at the College, all the robes and staffs. Not to mention all the requests we get from outside the College. I'll bet no one asks about _studying_ Enchantment at all. They just want it done." She adjusted eagerly in her chair. "Maybe I can talk to him for you."

Deanne started to argue. "Brelyna—"

"No, you're right. He'd never listen to me. Faralda! She'll talk him down. And she's already fond of you. I'm sure she'll do it."

"Brelyna!"

"What? You gave him a small fortune in soul gems, right? You deserve to get something out of it. Azura knows _you_ won't ask. Besides, that might be good for all of us. I'll bet spending time with you will soften him up for sure. You're hard to be unkind around. Well, except for Ancano." Just from how she said the name, Brelyna must have grimaced.

Deanne couldn't see any point in arguing further, so she turned her thoughts to the prospect.

Enchanting. Restoration was something she'd been exposed to back in Cyrodiil as she grew up. She knew the basics and had at least a general grasp of the field. But Enchanting was something entirely new. She'd never been in contact with an Enchanting table where the art was performed. In fact, she hadn't even been able to identify soul gems when they were in her hands. Enchanting was something she would need to learn from the ground up. Every step would be new and unexplored territory.

The woman tried to stay calm. She might have no skill for it. She might be hopeless at it. She might step up to an Enchanting table and fumble her way into a humiliating failure. For that matter, the Enchanter might not even agree to teach her at all.

But despite all these attempts to stay centered, Deanne felt her stomach flutter and twist…with excitement.

**I really hate that Thalmor jerk. And it seems I'm not alone. Really, I'm trying to figure out how he stays at the College while acting like such an ass, poking his nose into everything. Someone blow his face off already! Call it an accident; we'll believe it!**

**Thanks for reading. See you next weekend.**


	19. Enchantment!

**Update ahoy! This is what you get for bugging me. Another chapter. See? Peer-pressure does work. Are you happy now, you needy little cretins?!**

**In all seriousness, though, I'm syked that people are interested enough in this that they were driven to pm me about updating. And I am nothing if not willing to accommodate such interest. And to get a kick to the seat of my pants. Although...now I wonder about the wisdom in feeding addictions... Oh, well! More fudge-filled Deanne time for everyone!**

She held it, firmly but not too tight, like a small creature that might try to squirm out between one's fingers if it could. The spell pulsed between her palms, the layers of energy gyrating around a center. And from that center, Deanne projected a mirrored force at a distance before her and held it. This was Deanne's first attempt to branch out from the healing part of the Restoration school. A warding spell was certainly Restoration magic, but it was an entirely different array of the energy. Deanne held it in her hand, pouring magicka into it, maintaining the aura it cast before her.

Several minutes into the spell, she recognized the sensation of emptiness that came with the draining of her last available magicka. Deanne pushed into the feeling, wringing every drop that remained of what flowed through her, trying to keep up the pressure as her magicka fell to a trickle…and finally ran out, the spell fell apart immediate thereafter.

Deanne sat back on in her chair, depleted but hopeful. She'd been at this all day. It was hard to tell if she was improving at all, as she didn't seem able to hold the spell any longer than when she started. Then again, she could hardly expect anything to change so soon. Deanne reached out for the bottle on the table beside her and took a sip from one of her magicka restoratives. Not much; just enough to help along her recovery. A skein of yarn and knitting needles were just beside the bottle and she took them up to work while she waited for her magicka to recharge.

The door to the Hall of Attainment opened and there was a cold shift in the air before it closed. Her needles didn't miss a stitch as she listened to the footfalls enter and turn the corner to cross her doorway...and stop.

Deanne needed to hear but one grunt to recognize Enchanter Sergius. "Deanne, is it?"

The clicking of her needles paused and she stood to receive the man in question. "Yes, Enchanter. May I help you?"

He grumbled irritably before saying, "I'm told I owe you some lessons or other."

Deanne resisted the urge to wince. She hadn't expected Brelyna to accomplish this so soon. Or for Faralda to be so inclined. "Uh…if you wish, sir."

He spat what might have been a laugh from anyone else. "What I 'wish' is to be left alone to my work. But apparently I have a duty to the next generation. Do you want instruction or not?"

She couldn't help the hesitation, but it didn't last long. "Yes, sir. I would. If you—"

"Fine. You will be in the Hall of Countenance tomorrow morning at first light. If you're not, we drop this whole business like it never happened. I haven't time to go chasing after 'students'. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," she said automatically.

The Enchanter continued to grumble on his way back out of the hall and into the Winterhold weather. Deanne did not sit until the door to the outside had closed behind him. Her knitting for the rest of the day must have been atrocious; so many dropped stitches, but she couldn't help it. Too much nervous energy running through her. And she couldn't keep the smile off her face.

XXX

Considering she could hardly sleep, Deanne was at the Enchanting station in the Hall of Countenance well before Enchanter Sergius came grumbling out of one of the rooms on the second floor. If he noticed her punctuality, it didn't keep him from his morning routine. He went about his business, just like all the other magister waking up at this early hour, and then came into the alcove when he was good and ready.

"So, I'm to teach you Enchanting, am I?"

Deanne didn't say a word, but waited for his instruction.

"Have you any experience with Enchanting?"

"No, sir."

He wheezed disgruntledly. "So it's from scratch." The man grunted again. "Fine. We'll start with the basics then. Do you know what an enchantment is?"

"It is…magic…put into something?"

He grunted wearily. "It is a _form _of magic _permanently imbued _into an _object_." He walked around her and over to the Enchanting table. "The best way to learn is by doing. Come here." Deanne walked over, hands outstretched nonchalantly—she hoped—stopping when they came in contact with the table. Enchanter Sergius continued, "I suppose you didn't bother doing anything before I got here. Fine. This is the Arcane Enchanter. Go on, check it over. I don't intend to repeat this."

With the permission, Deanne went about investigating the table itself. It was pentagonal. The surface had a large crosshatching of grooves that, when she traced them all over, proved to be a five pointed star. Within each section of that star were more carved images. As she touched each one, Deanne felt magic singing beneath her fingers.

"The table itself is designed to support each of the five schools of magic. You'll need to access each school individually, depending on which enchantment you're working with. Once activated, the table will do the rest and you can focus on the specific enchantment." The Enchanter brushed her hands aside. "You can look more later on your own time. Let's get this lesson done with." He groaned as he leaned over and straightened back up, and then set something on the table with a metallic _clink_.

"First, you'll have to learn an enchantment. That dagger's been enchanted for fire; basic for a weapon. We'll start with that." Enchanter Sergius turned aside. "Now stand directly in front of the table. There. Right, now place both hands on it. Doesn't matter where, you'll find your optimum placement over time. That's decent. Now, you're going to activate the table and use it to draw the enchantment from the dagger. Pay attention when you do. I don't want to have to do this again. Pay attention and focus on the enchantment itself. The blend, the weave, the power, the pattern. How it feels, moves. Everything. Because I'll expect you to recreate it."

Under his direction, Deanne set to draining the enchantment out of the dagger. It was startling to feel the table just…open up under the touch of her magicka and for the enchantment to flow through into wherever it opened up to. If the Enchanter hadn't been there, she would have outright forgotten to pay attention to the fire enchantment's particulars.

The enchantment was…something else. For one, Deanne had never worked with Destruction magic. Even so, she knew for certain that a spell and an enchantment were two entirely different entities. It was in the movement between the dagger and whatever was beyond the table that she felt its identity. Bright with wild heat. The center danced and then lashed out at the edges, like streamers in the wind. She could smell the spicy, full-bodied burn at the back of her throat and taste the summer sun as it beat down. The enchantment was a torch and a wildfire and a hot summer's day all at once, dancing across the table and her fingertips like only fire could. And just like that, it was gone.

Deanne needed a minute to inhale and calm down after that. It had felt so intimate. A secret that the table had allowed her to see while it went about its business.

Enchanter Sergius didn't leave her too long to her awe. "So, have you got it?"

"I…I think so."

"Good. Then clear that away and you can prove it."

Deanne responded somewhat slowly, going to remove the dagger to make room for whatever was coming next. At her first touch, the seemingly solid dagger crumbled into metal dust. She gasped. "I'm sorry. I…I didn't know it was—I was paying attention to the enchantment. I didn't notice—"

"Calm down, girl. Calm down. Of course it disintegrated. You pulled the enchantment out." He reached around to dislodge something from off the side of the Arcane Enchanter. "Any enchantment worth its weight is worked into an object at the basest level. The two become one. Draining the enchantment tears the object apart on that same level, effectively destroying it." The object he'd taken up turned out to be a brush. And based on the sounds of the remnants of the dagger made when he swept it away, there was a container off the end of the Enchanter specifically for the detritus of such an exercise.

"So…you have to destroy the object to learn its enchantment? Is there any other way?"

"Well, if we had the time, and you actually knew the spells, I could teach you how to make an enchantment from what you can cast. But you don't, do you?" The look on her face must have been answer enough. "So we'll go about it this way. Faster anyhow. Provided you _pay attention_."

"But what if the item is valuable?" He wasn't concerned for the loss of the dagger. He'd brought it for this purpose after all. But what if it was something worth preserving?

"Then you'd better find another way to learn the enchantment, won't you? Now, enough of that. Let's see if you can recreate what you pulled out."

With that he put her through the next phase. A gem, smaller than but otherwise alike those she'd removed from the focus points the other day, was put into her hand. But this one was different; there was an odd, intangible heaviness to it, as though it held something. It was, for lack of a better word, 'filled' whereas the others had been 'empty'. Deanne's stomach turned a little when she realized she was holding a soul gem with a soul in it.

The Enchanter was unperturbed and placed another small blade on the table. "Now, you're going to recreate the fire enchantment and use the energy in the soul gem to bind it to the dagger. Start by activating the table. Then draw the energy from the gem and change it into the same sort that was in the dagger."

Deanne swallowed, but said nothing, turning the gem around in her hand.

"Well?"

The woman flinched, but rather than obey she asked, "Will it hurt it?"

He didn't understand. "Hurt what?"

She lifted the gem a little. "The soul in here. Does being used like this hurt it?"

Enchanter Sergius stood there in silence for most of a minute. And when he recovered, he spoke in sheer disbelief. "If you're going to refuse to use soul gems, then you're not going to do much in the way of Enchanting, I'll have you know."

Deanne shrank at the beratement and Enchanter Sergius sighed again. "A soul gem does not actually trap a soul. You can't contain a sentient being within something like that. A soul gem siphons off a soul's energy when the soul passes through in the seconds after death."

Deanne cringed. That sounded even worse. Enchanter Sergius continued. "So the answer is 'no'. You will not be harming a soul by using a soul gem. You will merely be using the energy of the soul that passed through it. May we continue?"

The bite in his last words pressed her back toward the table. Feeling more comfortable about the soul gem—if only a little—she awaited his next instruction.

"Now, place the dagger on the table. Put one hand over it and keep the gem in the other. Contact is unnecessary, but _beginners _need the visualization it seems. Now, activate the table and focus on the fire enchantment. Remember how it felt. Draw energy from the gem and use the table to recreate the form of the enchantment. The table first, then create the form of the enchantment with the soul gem, then direct it into the dagger. Go on."

Deanne did as she was told, the Enchanter falling completely silent as she began. All for the better. She needed no less focus now than she had in remembering the enchantment before.

The table responded to the gem when Deanne reached out, immediately drawing on the power source. The energy in the gem flowed out over the table, pure magic without shape or direction now that it was released. Magic that required molding. So Deanne held the energy in place with her thoughts, preventing it from dissipating, and brought the shape of the fire enchantment to the forefront of her mind. Heat, flame, dancing center, flaying edges. Spice and smoke. Life and insatiable consumption. The magic morphed beneath her fingertips and, using the enchantment in the table, turned to the very form of her mind by way of her will alone. Deanne then wove the changed energy into the empty dagger, lacing and folding the essence of fire into the basest core of the object until it burned of its own accord. So this is why the object corroded when the magic was removed.

There was no telling how long it took. By the time the energy of the gem was depleted and the energy of the enchantment was fully bound up in the blade, Deanne only knew that her knees ached and she was mentally exhausted.

The dagger edge scraped the table as Enchanter Sergius picked it up to inspect it. "Hm…"

Deanne held her breath, waiting for judgement.

"…Passable."

And she breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you, Enchanter."

He grunted again, then moved to lift something from the side of the room and set it on the Arcane Enchanter, the sound of metal and crystal moving against one another as he did so. "Repeat the process four times. When you're done, set the daggers on the side table here. I'll inspect them when I get back."

Deanne started. "Get back?"

Enchanter Sergius had already begun taking steps to depart and needed to turn back. "Of course. Did you think I'd be spending my day holding your hand? You've got enough of a handle on it. Consider this a test of your ability to retain information. Four more. Leave them on the table. When you're done you can…go about doing whatever it is you usually do. Now then, we both have work. So get to it."

He was gone without another word and Deanne was left a bit surprised. He just left her to it…just like that? He didn't have any more instructions or words to say about the enchantment she'd just done other than 'passable'? What did that even mean?

On the other hand, she didn't actually know how long they'd been here for already. Maybe this was the length of a normal lesson. Deanne turned back to the table and reached gingerly into the bag. Sure enough, there were four more petty soul gems, gleaming with energy against her fingers, and four more blades, more like cutlery than daggers. But who was she to complain? Enchanter Sergius was providing her with supplies to learn with, and had taken time to teach her. It was best that she make the most of what she had.

Deanne spent the next…several hours, probably, carefully enchanting each of the daggers she'd been given. By the last, she felt she had a much better grasp of how to control the shift of magic into the desired form. On the other hand, the effort of enchanting had worn her out. She'd never before had to focus so hard for so long. Leaving the daggers lined up on the side table, she abandoned the idea of attempting any potion making today and returned to the Hall of Attainment. The sleep that had fled from her last night was quick to divest her of consciousness now.

XXX

"Girl!"

Deanne bolted upright when the foot of her mattress was struck several times. She needed a few seconds to realize… "E…Enchanter?"

"Tomorrow morning. Same time. Don't be late."

"Uh…Yes, Enchanter."

He grunted, satisfied, and strode out of the room leaving the startled woman still sitting up in bed.

…Was this a good thing, or bad?

XXX

The next morning, she was there as requested when the Enchanter arrived. He was still sharp and dispassionate, but not disparaging. Enchanter Sergius immediately placed another soul gem and dagger into her hands and insisted she repeat yesterday's lesson. She did so, being very careful to follow each step, to not let any of the gem's magic escape, and to tailor the enchantment very specifically to the form it was meant to take. And all under the Enchanter's critical attention.

At the end, he again picked up the dagger, took a measure of it and declared, "Adequate."

Was that good? Bad? Better than yesterday? Was there a way to improve it? How? Why couldn't he speak clearly what he thought of her work?

Enchanter Sergius gave her no time to ask the questions and put another dagger on the table. "The same process as yesterday. Disenchant the dagger and learn the enchantment so that you can recreate it."

He didn't leave room for inquiry and she preferred to learn than press.

The dagger was enchanted for cold. Deanne felt it the moment she touched the blade, a chill lowing in the material. It was a very different feel from the fire enchantment of yesterday. Its energy felt lower, like a warbling basal horn that, at the same time, would crack unexpectedly. The energy, as it flowed from the dagger, was more rigid and edged. Solid and still and massive, loath to do anything but hold together, whereas the fire enchantment had been writhing and dancing within her fingers. As it flowed into her awareness, there was a blunted taste in the back of her mouth. Dull. Almost bitter, but not quite. Very strange, but not unlike the feeling she'd had as Vilkas had carried her to Nightcaller Temple all those weeks ago, when she had felt herself freezing beneath the weather. This enchantment was that feeling personified in magic.

The blade turned to dust under her fingers and Deanne dutifully swept the detritus into the bin hanging off the side of the table. Then, once again, she was handed a dagger and a small soul gem. Enchanter Sergius stayed for the first, then declared his time precious and left her to repeat the process four more times. She preferred the fire enchantment over this one. The cold was just not to her liking, in any form.

While still tired by the lesson's end, Deanne had energy enough to visit with Colette briefly afterward. She had to beg off any instruction and promised to come back later in the day and make a few magicka potions. The young woman returned to the Hall of Attainment in time to have lunch with Brelyna, who needed to vent about how a few of the other apprentices were flouting her in favor of some experiment. It didn't seem very serious; the apprentices already ignored Deanne. She was used to it. But it seemed Brelyna was not used to such deliberate disregard. Deanne provided her companion a sympathetic ear and retired for a brief nap before going back to the other hall to spend time at the alchemy station.

That was where Faralda found her.

"Ah! I hear you've taken up a new hobby."

Deanne lowered the burner's intensity and set aside her mortar and pestle to focus on the conversation. "Yes, I suppose I have. But just since yesterday. Enchanting is much harder than it looks."

"So it seems. That would explain Sergius, after all. So tell me, what has he had you doing?"

"He's let me learn a fire enchantment and a frost enchantment so far, and then enchant a few daggers for practice."

"Oh?" was Farlada's response, denoting the genuine interest she usually afforded to Deanne. "May I take a look?"

"I don't see why not. Enchanter Sergius told me to leave them on the side table at the Enchanting station. Would you put them back when you're done? He wanted to look at them too, when he had the time."

"Of course." The Magister walked away around the Hall of Countenance's upper level and Deanne went back to grinding the dried snowberries. Magister Faralda returned a few minutes later and asked, "What did Sergius say about the enchantments? Did he give you any kind of critique?"

"Yes. I think. Yesterday he said my first fire enchantment was 'passable', and this morning he said it was 'acceptable'. I don't know about the frost daggers. I made those after he left."

Faralda chuckled. "Of course he would. And are you enjoying it? Learning Enchanting?"

"Oh, yes!" Deanne had to set the sieve down before she could continue. "I love it. It's hard. And I'm not used to concentrating so hard for so long. But it's exciting! And I love knowing that I can do magic like everyone else here!"

Her elation amused the Magister. "I'm so glad. I'm glad you're enjoying the experience. I know Sergius can take some getting used to. But I suspect you can handle anyone after Colette. Well…almost anyone." There was something of a darkening of the space at the hinted reference to the Thalmor. But it passed quickly. "If there's anything else you need, just let me know."

"I will. And Faralda?" Deanne felt her skin warm and she reached for the right words. "Thank you. I know that…Brelyna said she was going to talk to you about talking to Sergius about the lessons. You did, didn't you?"

The Magister did not even pretend to deny it. "Yes, I did."

Deanne shut her eyes for a few seconds, fighting back the grateful tears. "Thank you. I didn't realize…I love learning like this. It's thrilling and new. Not nearly as scary as I thought it'd be. And…I really feel a part of the College when I do magic. So, thank you. I know I would never have approached Enchanter Sergius on my own."

Faralda's warm silken tones smoothed over the younger woman's ears. "I was happy to do it. And I'm glad you feel that way. There is so much you can learn and experience here. I'd never want you to miss out on an opportunity." She laughed lightly. "And you are our Ward, after all. What sort of guardians would we be if we did not attend to your education?"

Deanne was so choked up by those words that she couldn't do anything but beam with joy at the woman while grateful tears welled up in her eyes. '_Don't cry, don't cry—'_ Thankfully, it was enough to get the message across. Faralda crossed the distance and embraced Deanne, a gesture which was quickly returned. And before she pulled away, Faralda whispered mischievously, "And you come to me if you ever feel ready to start throwing real Destruction about."

Deanne laughed happily and went to wipe her eyes when she was released. It would be a long time yet before she was ready to start handling fire and ice in real time. But all the same…she might just keep that offer in mind.

XXX

The next day was much the same. Enchanter Sergius, having strode into the alchemy lab just as Deanne was cleaning up, told her that she would be in the Enchanting lab the following morning. This time it was for an electricity enchantment.

This enchantment bit at her as she drew it from the blade. Deanne had thought the fire enchantment was wild, but this one was _erratic_. It flashed and snapped and chattered, seeking escape with every movement. It was all she could do just to try and contain it all. Just as insatiable as the fire, but electricity was on another level entirely. Its touch was lightning fast and lanced where it landed. Impatient, demanding, and without reason. Her skin pricked from the first touch, all the way through to her insides.

But this time, Enchanter Sergius stayed while she enchanted the daggers for practice. He did not speak while she was enchanting, allowing her focus on the work. But afterwards—

"How do you think it compares to the last one? What qualities did you focus on while creating the enchantment? How much of the soul energy do you think you let escape?"

This was the sort of questioning Deanne had expected that first day. Apparently, he just hadn't had the time before. He seemed particularly interested in the shape of the enchantment when she was imbuing it.

"Taste? You can taste the enchantment when you mold it?"

"Sort of. It's…it's not like the taste of food. But I can feel it on my tongue and in the back of my throat. Electricity pricks. It tastes unbridled and excited. And it wants to be everywhere. The cold is sort of bitter like bitter cold might be, if it were a taste. Like there's an enormous mass sitting in the back of your throat. It's…" By the Eight, this was so hard to explain. "It's a taste, but I can't think of a taste to describe it. It tastes like the enchantment. But I don't have any words for it."

That declaration was met, not with a grumble, but with a grunt of…interest? Maybe intrigue. Either way, she never would have expected that from the Enchanter.

He called an end to their lesson after the last dagger was enchanted. "I'll tell you, or tell someone else to tell you, when I next have time for this. And I expect you to show up when I do, understand?"

"Yes, sir," was her response.

Enchanter Sergius had such time once more that week. And three times the next. Each day he brought a piece of equipment with a new enchantment on it—more often a garment now than a weapon—and corresponding items and soul gems with which she would practice enchanting that quality. It took several lessons, but Deanne figured out that certain sorts of enchantments bound better or worse to particular sorts of garments. Most fortify enchantments worked best when bound to a full body garment, while attributes that would be directed through the hands worked best in gloves or some other hand related clothing. And for the life of her, she could not get resistance spells to bind to anything that was worn on the head. It was like the enchantment knew it didn't belong there. Which couldn't be possible!

Some days the Enchanter stood over her shoulder, micromanaging her enchantments in his gruff voice: "Focus on the bonfire quality of fire this time" or "Make it a broader weave, but stronger". Other times she was given materials and instructions and left to her own devices.

And she still couldn't get a straight answer out of the Enchanter for how she was doing. Although he did gradually come to trust her with improved materials: larger soul gems with more energy contained within, real weapons of steel or corundum or quicksilver, clothing that was actually wearable and sometimes of good weave after a while, and even armor.

Deanne was working on such a piece—a large steel cuirass that she had trouble just getting up onto the Arcane Enchanter—when she heard the Enchanter enter the Hall of Countenance downstairs. Or at least, she realized it was the Enchanter when Faralda first spoke out to him. He was due back about now to check her progress, after all; she hadn't tried enchanting such a large piece before. And Deanne hadn't actually begun the process of infusing the magical resistance into the material yet, so she naturally listened to what was going on downstairs…which soon became her focus.

"Well, well, well. Color me shocked," Faralda said. Even from upstairs, she could hear the Magister smirking. "Enchanter Sergius, shirking his duties."

Enchanter Sergius declared outright, "Shirking? I am shirking nothing. What foolishness are you speaking, womer?"

"Oh, nothing," Faralda insisted, unable to smother the smile even in her voice. "I just notice that you seem to be offloading some of that all-important Enchanting work onto our young Ward, that's all. For shame, Sergius." The Destruction Magister sounded like she was having a ball teasing the Enchanter.

And with an astonishing efficacy. Enchanter Sergius actually sputtered. _Sputtered_! Deanne couldn't have imagined anyone getting under his gruff persona. "I am doing nothing of the sort," he finally insisted…with too much insistence.

"Oh? Then what, pray tell, is she doing upstairs with a set of steel plate armor? I suppose Phinis must want to test his atronachs against fully armored targets? Is that it?"

"That's none of your business!" he said.

His footsteps carried him quickly away from Faralda toward the stair as she said, "If I recall your words correctly, you told me: 'I will never take an apprentice. My work is too important to trust to some empty-headed mana-masher.'" She chuckled. "Oh, how the mighty have fallen!"

The Enchanter turned back on her. "Well, she's not an apprentice, now is she?"

"Semantics," she replied. Then her amusement darkened, daring. "And you know it."

There was a long minute in which the two below remained completely silent and which Deanne spent straining her ears to hear them over the rush of the focus point.

Enchanter Sergius was the one to break the relative quiet, gritting out, "Not a word, womer."

Faralda replied, acquiescent, "Oh, I wouldn't dare." And yet still, there was an undercurrent of amusement in her voice. But it was not unkind. There seemed to be an odd rapport between the two, closer than mere colleagues.

Enchanter Sergius grunted unhappily and progressed toward the stair again. Deanne hurried to appear at work, and was turning the soul gem's magic around her fingertips by the time the Enchanter reached her. He didn't say a word and Deanne proceeded with the enchantment of the cuirass. Again, she was allowed full focus for the work, but as soon as she stopped, he was testing the enchantment and making remarks.

"The spell's more centered in the body piece. The shoulders are thin. This isn't the first time you've dealt with multiple pieces, is it? You should know how to account for this by now."

"Sorry, Enchanter. The metal is denser than leather. I ran out of enchantment by the time I reached the upper part. But I know how to accommodate it now. For next time. I'll do better next time."

He grunted, unconvinced. Or so it seemed. "See that you do. You let your focus slip just once and it's a slippery slope down. I won't have you putting out sub-par enchantments. Not out of this College. You hear me?"

"Yes, Enchanter. I'll do better next time."

He huffed and cast some kind of spell in the area. She could feel it on her skin: oddly lightening. Then the man promptly lifted the heavy cuirass like it was a cumbersome paperweight. Even sightless, Deanne needed to blink several times as the Enchanter walked off with little more effort than he usually took.

There was no comment made about the conversation below, from any party. In fact, Deanne was fairly certain they didn't know she'd overheard them. Brelyna mentioned periodically how amazed she was that Deanne could hear anything over the focus point. But Deanne kept that exchange in her mind. It seemed, despite her general intent to remain out of the way, that she was garnering attention here after all. Were it to remain with people like Faralda and Colette and Enchanter Sergius, she saw no reason to be concerned. But if that attention broadened, and more like that…Ancano, entered her life…

...Deanne didn't much want to think about what might come of that.

**Oh, and for the multiple-fandom readers, here's a challenge regarding this chapter's title. Namely: name that reference!**

**See you next update!**


	20. New Arrival

**New arrival! And by that I mean update! A big thank you to those who have reviewed. I really appreciate that you take the time.**

Between the Enchanting, Restoration with Colette and the alchemy table, Deanne found her time largely occupied. She barely had the energy to exercise her mana pool in the evening before collapsing into bed, only to rise early the next morning to hurry over to the Hall of Countenance. Deanne felt that this was what it was like to be an apprentice. Small wonder most of them hadn't spent any time with her. Days spent like she was spending hers? Deanne couldn't imagine anyone had time to do anything besides study and work.

But, by the Eight, it was worth it! After so long sitting on her hands, occupying herself with busy tasks while people around her did true worthwhile work, it was a joy to finally be doing something herself. An absolute joy that she wouldn't have traded for anything. Well…almost anything.

"Oh, Deanne!" Brelyna called to her when Deanne entered the Hall of Attainment one evening. "Did you meet the new apprentice?"

Deanne halted in her steps. "A…a new apprentice? There's…"

"Yes. He just arrived today from down south."

"There's…" Deanne couldn't speak. Her heart was trying to beat out of her chest. By the Eight, how could that have slipped her mind? Was it… She'd been so busy. Busy enough that she hadn't had time to sit idly and really _think _about—

"…Deanne? Are you alright?"

The blind woman needed to reach out and steady herself against the wall. Her head was spinning. Could it be…? "Where? Where is he?"

"Um…I think Mirabelle is giving him a tour of the main building."

Deanne straightened up rapidly. "Would you take me there?!" She had to know. She had to know right now!

"Of course, of course. Just let me put this down and we'll go."

The path to the College proper didn't normally feel this long. Then suddenly they were there within the Hall of Elements. "Ow! Deanne, you're squeezing too tight."

"Sorry." She was hardly paying attention. Too tense. Too fearful. Too excited.

Within the Hall of the Elements, Brelyna paused. There didn't seem to be anyone there. "Let's try the Arcaneum. Maybe we'll catch them there." Through a door on the left coming in from outside. They took the path Deanne now knew led to the Arcaneum. Her ears strained, listening desperately as she clung to her guide as they walked the stacks. Was he here? She couldn't hear him. But any minute—any minute she might hear his voice!

"Um…" Brelyna's arm shifted as she angled around. "It doesn't look like they're here." She paused again when Deanne's hands tightened on her arm. Brelyna offered hesitantly, "Maybe we could go back to the Hall of Attainment. This place is really big, you know. But they're sure to end up there eventually."

Deanne couldn't get her mouth to form words. Everything was terribly choked up inside her. But she managed a nod. They made their way back to the Hall of Attainment. Brelyna brought her work into Deanne's room and they sat together sharing a companionable silence. Meanwhile, Deanne summon up the concentration to do anything. She couldn't focus her magicka or trust her hands with tools. Really, all she could do was fiddle with her fur mantle and listen.

It might be him. It might not. It might not be him. She hoped. Gods above, she hoped. But she shouldn't hope so hard. It might not be him…But it might…

She ran her fingers up and down the soft downy fur, the scratching of Brelyna's quill almost drowned out by the rush of the focal point and the deafening silence that lay beyond it.

Soon…Soon she'd know…Know whether or not…whether or not…

It was an eternity without a means to measure. And then…the door to the Hall opened, and Magister Mirabelle spoke. "And this is the Hall of Attainment, where the apprentices stay. We have a few free rooms for you to choose from. Furnishings are available, depending on your preferences." The door closed and two sets of footsteps passed into the hall. "You will be expected to respect the studies and work of your fellow apprentices, as they are expected to respect yours. Lessons take place in the main College. We can get you a schedule shortly and you may take up your studies once you are settled. Do you have any other questions?"

Deanne leaned forward, desperate to hear those first words.

"J'Zargo has no more questions," the new arrival replied, his words rasping over a feline tongue. "And he is most pleased to have the opportunity to study at such a prestigious academy."

Deanne's anxiety went dead, and then fell into the pit of her stomach.

"Hm," Mirabelle was hardly won over by the response. "Let us see. Will this chamber suffice?"

Deanne's hands started shaking, the tremors seemed to run right up her arms and into her belly, making her feel sick. It wasn't him. He wasn't here. He hadn't come. Deanne trembled and her chest seized, choking her up. No. She wasn't going to cry. She wasn't going to cry anymore. She wasn't—

—given a choice. The woman gasped out loud, feeling the heat rush up into her face.

"Deanne? What's wrong?" Brelyna asked from the desk.

Just not in front of people. Divines, let it hold off for just another minute. Just long enough to get somewhere.

"Deanne!" Brelyna cried as Deanne stood quickly and rushed out of the room.

She hurried outside and, instead of following the known path, turned left and followed the curve of the outer wall in the opposite direction. Thirty steps later and she heard a wall appear before her. Deanne stepped right and found the first supporting pillar and slid to the ground behind it, praying it blocked anyone outside from seeing her. Then she broke down. For the first time since she'd woken up in that bandit cave, she wept freely, without holding back. Her wails were masked by the winds of Winterhold that also chilled the heat of her skin and the tears on her cheeks. She curled tightly against the pillar, clutching her mantle close and let the rush of sorrow overwhelm her.

She didn't hear Brelyna's approach until the womer discovered her. "Deanne? Oh! By Azura, what happened? What's wrong?"

Found out, Deanne didn't have the strength to cover up her pain, and admitted through her sobs, "I-I thought…my brother…had come. That he might have…made it." She dissolved into tears as Brelyna knelt beside her. "I thought…But he didn't. He's still not—" Brelyna leaned forward and pulled Deanne to her. The blind woman fell into the offered comfort, collapsing into Brelyna's arms. But there was no safety from what she'd realized, from what she had no choice but to accept. "I…I don't think he's coming." A fresh wave of tears overtook her, shaking Deanne to her core. "I don't think he's coming…I kept hoping he'd come. Or send word where he was. Or something! But…" Deanne whimpered pitifully. "I don't think he's ever coming. It's been so long. And I don't…_I don't think he's coming._"

Brelyna murmured softly as Deanne's speech was taken from her, replaced by a terrible outpouring of sadness. The apprentice rocked her as she cried, trying to sooth what could not be softened.

She'd been here at the College for months. And in all that time there had been nothing, not even a word from Marc that he might be alright. She'd kept just expecting him to show up one day. But he hadn't. All this time, and he hadn't. And he wasn't going to…was he? He was gone. Like father. Lost to her. Her family was gone. And now…Deanne was truly on her own.

The woman cried in Brelyna's arms for a long while as the cold winds swirled around them.

XXX

She'd cried herself out in Brelyna's lap and felt her very spirit depleted by it. But the revelation was...not crippling. The day that followed, she was able to meet with Sergius and went about their lesson. If he, or anyone, noticed she was more subdued, they did not she hid it well. Maybe they just didn't care.

She'd known. Gods, she'd known for a while that he was not going to come. At some point in the last month, the realization had snuck into her mind and settled in to wait for a moment such as that one to reveal itself. That didn't make it any easier to accept, though. It felt like she was carrying this cold weight hung around her heart. And she would never be free of it. There was no potion, enchantment or spell to make it go away. She was alone. Her brother was gone. And she would probably never even know what had happened to him.

So Deanne kept to her work: enchanting, potions, Restoration with Colette. She was quieter, though hardly anyone noticed. But keeping busy made it easier to ignore the loss she carried.

She actually met the new apprentice several days after his arrival. She and Brelyna were sharing a meal in the Hall's kitchen when he came and sat down beside them, uninvited.

"Warmest greetings, friends." Deanne couldn't decide if his affability was genuine. And she didn't...really want to socialize right now.

"Hello," Brelyna responded. "You're J'Zargo, right? The new apprentice?"

"This is true! J'Zargo has come far to study magic here. The winds blow bitter cold in this place." To punctuate the point, he shuddered perceptibly on the bench.

"I guess it must be pretty different from Elsweyr. You can't get much further north." Brelyna started suddenly. "That is, if you _are_ from Elsweyr. I mean, you might not be. I just assumed—which I shouldn't have. After all, not all Khajiit are actually from Elsweyr. There are all sorts all over the Empire. And especially here. So I shouldn't…" She trailed off and Deanne could almost feel Brelyna trying to disappear into the bench. Maybe she could speak to Magister Neloran about teaching her invisibility.

J'Zargo laughed out loud. "Yes, J'Zargo is from Elsweyr. He does miss the warm sands of his homeland." The Khajiit sounded wistful at the recollection. "But J'Zargo must hone his skills if he is to become great. And great he shall be! Have you mastered the expert Destruction spells yet?"

Brelyna responded hesitantly. "Well, no. That's far beyond my skill."

"It is? This is disappointing. J'Zargo hoped there might be one who could keep pace with his accomplishments."

Brelyna declared, "I can do just fine, thank you. And not everything is a competition you know!"

J'Zargo replied, "Oh, but you are wrong. The only reason you could disagree is because you are losing so badly you cannot see it."

Brelyna bristled a little at that and Deanne reached across the table to find her hand. "Brelyna, it's fine. We're all here to learn. It doesn't matter at what pace."

That seemed to placate Brelyna, while the smug J'Zargo chose not to respond. Probably still buoyed on his apparent competitive victory. That was fine. Deanne wasn't looking to get into any kind of competition with anyone. After all, she wasn't an apprentice.

"There is something J'Zargo wishes to know: he has heard that there is blind mage at the College. Do either of you know such a one?"

Deanne lip ticked up and she dropped her head a little. Across the table from her, Brelyna started to giggle.

"What?" the new apprentice demanded.

Brelyna giggled louder and Deanne let her smile grow as their newest comrade continued to flail.

"What?! What has J'Zargo said?"

XXX

"Enchanter Sergius."

The man grunted in response.

"What would you like me to do with the extra soul gem?"

"What?"

Deanne lifted the bag of supplies she'd been given. "There's an extra grand soul gem here. What would you like me to do with it?"

He grunted again. "Enchant something. Obviously. Or put it in a drawer. Or use it as a paperweight. How am I to know?"

Deanne blinked, uncertain what he was telling her to do. "So…I should use it on one of today's enchantments?"

"Aetherius, no! Those money-grubbing adventurers get what they paid for. You enchant those swords exactly how I told you to, and no more."

"And what about the grand soul gem?"

"What about it?"

She hesitated, but still hadn't gotten a clear answer. "Well, what do you want me to do with the soul gem? Is there something in particular I should use it on?"

Enchanter Sergius huffed in irritation. "Are you really expecting me to tell you exactly what you should be doing with every aspect of your life? I'm not your keeper, you know!"

"I never said you were," she hurried to say. "But you normally have instructions for whatever you give me. And it's a grand soul gem, so I assumed that…" He didn't normally give her grand soul gems. In fact, she could count the number of times on one hand.

He heaved an agitated sigh, and when he spoke next it was in a way one might give instruction to a simpleton. "The gem is for you to enchant something with. I'm sure there's something of your own you can use it on. I'm hardly going to make demands on your personal property."

Deanne needed a minute to wrap her head around what he'd said. "Something of mine… You mean, it's for me?"

The Enchanter gave a short groan of exasperation. "Yes. It's for you. Obviously. What did you think?"

Deanne was speechless. A grand soul gem, completely filled, just for her. For whatever she wanted to do with it. "I…thank you, sir. But…why?"

The man grumbled under his breath and answered begrudgingly, "You've been doing good work. It occurred to me you deserved something for your progress." He swept rapidly back into his curmudgeonly state. "Don't expect this regularly, though. And don't think it an invitation to get complacent."

"No, no. Of course not, Enchanter." She curled the gem back nearer her person. "Thank you."

"Yes, well…see to your work before you go playing with that. And don't waste it! Grand souls are hard to come by."

He strode off and Deanne turned back to the Arcane Enchanter, actually smiling. Smiling more than she had since J'Zargo's arrival. A grand soul gem, just for her. She could enchant something for herself. But what? It felt so selfish to be thinking about something like this when she should still be in mourning for her brother. But all the same, she wondered: what could she—? No, now wasn't the time. Enchanter Sergius was right: work came first. And afterwards she would take time to think about what she would do with this special gift.

XXX

Deanne couldn't think of a good reason why Magister Mirabelle would come looking for her. Usually, the Master Wizard only really came to the Hall of Attainment to reprimand an apprentice, who was more often than not trying to avoid her. So when she came to Deanne's door and spoke her name, the young woman's heart seized up. Had she forgotten something? Left a mess at one of the stations? Was this to do with her more somber conduct? Maybe her slowed potions output had been noticed.

"Deanne, would you be interested in studying Alchemy with the Archmage?"

That stopped her up rather quickly. "Uh…what?"

Magister Mirabelle was much more amenable to explanation than Enchanter Sergius was. "The Archmage wishes to spend more time practicing the crafting of potions. He recalled that you, likewise, practice the craft, and he expressed an interest in collaboration. That depends, however, on the intent of your overall study: are you open to experimentation or do you prefer to produce the potions you already know?"

That was a great deal to process right out of the air. "I…I like making potions. I have been trying to branch out, but…it's hard to know what to do. I don't like to waste ingredients."

The Magister make a sound of approval. "In that case, studying with the Archmage would be beneficial for you. He has much expertise and can provide you guidance with 'branching out'."

It did sound like a wonderful opportunity: to work with someone who knew about Alchemy already. It was certainly not something she ever expected. But for it to be the Archmage— "I wouldn't want to take up his time. He's the Archmage. I'm not even an apprentice."

"You place too much importance on monikers, child," Mirabelle stated. "Aren has an interest that few others share in the field. Regardless of your 'station' in this facility, you would learn a great deal from his experience. And believe me he would appreciate having someone to share his passion with for the few hours that could be afforded. I would not be here asking if I did not think this arrangement worthwhile. It is entirely up to you, however. I understand Sergius has something of a monopoly on your time."

"Not a monopoly…exactly." Just a priority. Until now, perhaps. She thought, carefully. "If…If the Archmage has the time…and he's alright with it…"

Mirabelle clarified curtly, "The Archmage intends to allot three hours to potion-making on Turdas mornings, regardless of his company. He believes having a partner would make the time more productive and enjoyable, and I agree. You will not be an inconvenience."

Well…the Magister had rather read her mind, hadn't she? "…Alright. I…Yes. Yes, I would like that. Except, Enchanter Sergius sometimes has me enchanting in the morning. He likes me to start early. And I'm never sure what days he wants me until right before."

"I will speak to him and tell him your Turdas mornings will be occupied. Sergius is a particularly early riser among the faculty. Aren, likewise, will expect you shortly after sunrise. Can you be ready?"

"Of course. Yes, of course I will."

"Good. I will come to fetch you the morning after tomorrow. I will escort you up to Aren's chambers, and back down when your time is over."

Deanne nodded and stopped up abruptly. "The Archmage's…chambers?" Where she'd broken down in tears, right in front of the Archmage himself?

Magister Mirabelle replied, "Yes. Aren has an Alchemy station in his chambers, along with his own personal supply of ingredients. It is where he normally practices. Will this be a problem?"

"Uh…no…"

Magister Mirabelle was very understanding for so stern an authority figure, picking up on and identifying the source of Deanne's uncertainty. "If you would prefer to use the station in the Hall of Countenance, I'm sure Aren will oblige. He is most eager to work with a partner—"

"No, no, it's fine!" Deanne rushed out. She didn't want to inconvenience the Archmage at all. It was just…the last time she'd met him—her first impression, in fact—had been in that very room and had been… Gods above, Deanne could hardly imagine she was agreeing to face him again. The Archmage! And the fact that he was asking for her at all after that… "I'll come. I don't mind."

"Good. I will see you just after sunrise on Turdas, then." Mirabelle turned to go, and then turned back. "One last thing. This period of time you will be sharing with Aren is specifically for the practice of Alchemy. It is not an opportunity for you to air grievances to him. This is not to imply that you would do so, but others may ask it of you once this appointment reaches the apprentice and magister body. Should anyone make such requests of you, you are to refer them to me. There are official avenues for such things. Understand?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. I will see you Turdas morning then."

Deanne seated herself when the Master Wizard had left the hall, just a little apprehensive about what she'd just agreed to. Alchemy with the Archmage. Well…she certainly hadn't expected something like that.

XXX

Enchanter Sergius didn't make any comments about her unavailability the following day, merely telling her that he would not expect her. Deanne was awake and waiting when Mirabelle appeared to fetch her. Deanne accepted the Master Wizard's guidance and they proceeded to the main College building and up to the Archmage's quarters.

He was already awake. "Mirabelle, good morning. And—Ah! It is Turdas, isn't it? My, how time flies." He came out from behind what Deanne could only assume was desk given how the wood absorbed the sound of his footsteps as they patted across the stone floor. "Deanne. It is a pleasure to see you again. And in better spirits, I hope."

Deanne blushed and ducked her head, hiding further beneath the hood of her fur mantle. "Yes, sir. I'm sorry, again, about that."

"Think nothing of it." He shifted his attention. "Thank you, Mirabelle. I believe I can take it from here. And in the meantime, you have a College to run, don't you?" The last sentence was spoken with mirth.

"Of course, Aren. I'll be back in three hours to collect her. There is still the matter of the Synod's latest correspondence to address."

The Archmage sighed. "Yes, of course." The very prospect seemed to weary him, and the Archmage made a point to cast it aside for now. "But that is a matter for a later hour. Come then. We've only three hours before us. Let's make the most of it."

Magister Mirabelle departed the room and Archmage Aren walked several steps before realizing he needed to come back and provide Deanne with guidance around this new area. Good thing, too. This place was large and there were various pieces of furniture throughout. The space was circular, like most of the rooms at the College, she realized. The same sort of vaulted ceiling as the Hall of Elements. Very open, to her ears. It had to be at least as large as either of the residential halls.

"Is this all yours?"

The Archmage, chuckled. "It is indeed."

She inhaled deliberately when she detected the smell of flowers and grass. "Are you growing something?"

"Why yes." He turned them to the right and stopped after three steps. "There is a garden here in the center of the room. I cultivate many of my ingredients here. Although, I'll admit, I haven't been tending it as I should. Busy, you know. Oh. The creep clusters have rather overrun the dragon's tongue, haven't they? Really, I can hardly believe I didn't notice."

He released her arm and leaned down to retrieve and give her what turned out to be a basket. "Here. Just hold that. We can cut back the devils and get some ingredients as we do."

Deanne was soon kneeling beside him, accepting long strands of a thick, knarred, root-like vine. Numerous scents wafted into her nose in the meantime, even beyond the smell of raw-cut creep cluster. It was wonderful, being surrounded by all the plant-life. It reminded her of the gardens behind the Temple of Stendarr. After so long spent surrounded by stone walls and only working with dried or long stored ingredients, this plethora of living scents was lovely.

Deanne freed one hand and reached out to investigate the earth was before her, fingers brushing over leaves and flowers. The blooms immediately in front of her had a distinct structure of mostly erect petals with one predominant one drooping forward. The smell was bright and a little bit bitter beneath the floral sweetness. "Dragon's tongue," the Archmage supplied. The flowers, when fresh, can be boiled for a fire resistance effect. The leaves fortify illusion skill. And the roots, when processed and distilled properly, improve one's skill with two handed weaponry. It effects the coordination of the limbs. One of only four ingredients I've come across that do it. And…Ah! Here. Jazbay grapes. Very rare. Can't go loosing these."

"Where?" Deanne perked up.

"Just here," the Archmage replied, taking her hand and laying it gently on a spindly, small-leaved vine with hard little berries hanging from it. "Picking them used to be illegal without express permission from the Emperor himself. But we've come a long way since then. And so have the grapes. Much more sour now. Not nearly the prize they were. But excellent for affecting one's magicka pool, both beneficially and negatively."

They spent a great deal of time knelt in the garden area. Deanne's questions drove them around the entire area, from one planter to the next, with the Archmage outright eager to talk about each plant in turn. He talked about the different flora types: flowering plants, grasses, weeds, fungi. There was a hanging moss that he had allowed to climb up the overhang beside the garden (another overgrowth he was startled to recognize now that he was taking accounts). He went into detail about how he maintained different soil compositions in each planter to sustain different sorts of plants.

Aren was impressed when she detected a mild heating rune in the stones of one. "These normally grow in a volcanic tundra. The Winterhold temperatures would kill them within days. Can't have that. And if you want to see something truly unusual, here." There was more moisture around this enclosure. And when Deanne reached out to investigate, what she touched was cold and slimy and pulled an unintended "Ew!" and grimace from her as she snatched her hand back.

The Archmage laughed aloud. "I should have prepared you for that one!" he admitted, still laughing. It was a good sound. Energetic and clean. "These aren't plants, but chaurus egg sacks. Unfertilized, so we didn't have a mess of the little things crawling about one day. I paid an adventurer to obtain them. Don't even want to know what she went through to get it. These have to be kept at a precise moisture and temperature, although they improve stamina better when dried. I'm rather impressed they're still in such good condition. I wonder how viable they still are. Haven't touched them in…by Azura, it's been a year, at least. I should obtain a fresher sample. I'm not sure we could manage an invisibility potion with year old eggs."

"What are chaurus?" Deanne asked, torn between whether or not the gross texture of the egg sacks was worth further investigating them. Gods, they smelled like fermented fish!

"Nasty little ear-wigs. Well…not precisely little. They grow rather large. Adults are the size of a small horse. Pincers on both ends. They spit poison. Nothing you'd care to run into while wandering a cave. Not that you'd have a choice. They thrive in the cold, moist caverns here in Skyrim."

Deanne shuddered at the thought. "The adventurer must have been very brave."

"Indeed. And she was well compensated. Still, if we're going to use these in potion-making, it might be worthwhile to obtain a fresher sample."

They continued through the garden and when Mirabelle appeared, it startled the both of them. "Three hours already?" Archmage Aren asked when the Master Wizard approached the garden and cleared her throat

"Yes, Aren," was the reply, patiently given.

Deanne stood with the Archmage, who stretched, his back cracking once. "My, how time flies." There was a beat of silence and he laughed that nice laugh again. "And the creep-cluster is right where we left it. Haha! I forgot all about it."

Deanne shuffled her feet when she realized they'd spent the entire time in the garden and made not a single potion. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to sidetrack everything."

"Not a word on that," the Archmage declared, clapping her on the shoulder. "Half of Alchemy is the ingredients you utilize. Personally, I think this was time well spent. But three hours a week is clearly not enough. The creep cluster will have grown right back over the dragon's tongue by the time we see each other again. What would you say to meeting twice a week, rather than once? How do you normally spend your Loredas?"

From the garden's edge came, "Aren, I don't think—"

"Mirabelle, honestly, I am the Archmage of the College of Winterhold. I can take a day to myself, can I not?"

Magister Mirabelle sighed, already giving up the points she'd been prepared to recite in the face of the Archmage's almost boyish enthusiasm. "And I suppose you will wish the entire day."

"My, but you are generous, Mirabelle. Thank you," the Archmage teased gently. Back to Deanne, he continued, "But only if you will agree to be there, my dear. Having a companion makes all the difference, I see."

Deanne replied eagerly, "Yes, of course." This had been wonderful! They hadn't even gotten to all the planters. This was just like learning new Restoration from Colette or having her hands in a cloud of magic on the Arcane Enchanter. She just _loved_ to learn. To be doing! And certainly it had taken her mind off of her brother. At least up until this moment. She sobered, but tried to cling to the buoyancy of the previous moment. "I would be honored to be here and assist you, sir."

"Excellent. Loredas, from dawn until dusk. We'll get this garden in proper order. And perhaps even manage a potion or two. What do you say?"

She rode the feeling of today's experience, letting it lift a smile onto her face. "I say yes."

"Then it's decided!"

Mirabelle sighed again, vaguely exasperated with the Archmage's prioritization. "In that case, there are several matters which will need to be taken care of _before _Loredas lest we have a Jarl, or three, exercising grievances against us."

"Oh, very well, Mirabelle. I hear you." Aren turned and squeezed Deanne's shoulder companionably. "Deanne, until Loredas. It was a great pleasure to rediscover my garden with you."

Deanne smiled up at him, not sure how much of her face was visible from beneath her hood. "Likewise, sir. Thank you for your time. I had…fun."

"That's the spirit of it. Now, alas, it seems I must see to the more tedious portion of my position. I shall see you the day after tomorrow, bright and early."

"Yes, sir," Deanne replied before stepping around the nearest planter toward Magister Mirabelle. He made some comment at the basket of creep cluster before the two women closed the door behind them and they made their way out toward the Hall of the Elements.

As they walked down the hall, Deanne realized she'd just allowed the Archmage to declare an entire day to their study of plants and Alchemy when he clearly had other things on his plate. Things that Mirabelle seemed to be responsible for helping the Archmage keep on top of. Which meant that the Master Wizard could hardly be pleased with losing the Archmage to gardening for an entire day, and with little warning.

Magister Mirabelle must have spent time studying Mysticism—she must have—because she reached up and patted the younger woman's hand gently even as the concern came to Deanne's mind. "Well done."

Deanne started. "What?"

"I haven't seen the Archmage that spirited in some time. The responsibilities of his position can weigh one down over time. It is good to know he can still laugh like that."

Deanne tilted her head up timidly. "Even if he won't be doing any College business on Loredas?"

"Even so," Mirabelle said.

And that was the end of it. Mirabelle brought her back to her room, said she would return to take Deanne back to the Archmage at sunrise on Loredas and then left.

Deanne decided right then that she would not look for a reason to feel guilty about commandeering so much of the Archmage's valuable time. It was tempting to fall back on a sense of insignificance. Except…he'd singled her out, hadn't he? He _wanted_ to spend the time doing Alchemy with her. And so did she. And Mirabelle had voiced approval in regards to it all. So, regardless of her apparent station relative to her fellow alchemist, Deanne _decided_ that the time was worth how it was going to be spent.

**Oooo, private lessons with the Archmage...sorta. Deanne's moving up in the world...sorta. Oh, go away! Gardening is awesome!**

**So what do you guys think of Archmage Aren? I realized partway into the College material, setting up for Deanne to have a mentor. Then, wouldn't you know it, Aren showed up instead of Tolfdir. I hadn't even told him about the casting call. ****How rude! Oh well. Deanne likes him. And he gets all boyish when he's excited, so it's hard to stay irritated. What can you do?  
**


	21. Stand Your Ground

**No ado. Update away. **

Deanne managed a fairly regular schedule the next day, but harbored a persistent feeling of anticipation for Loredas. It kept her from crying herself to sleep that night over Marc. Just like before, Magister Mirabelle came to her door in the early morning and escorted her up to the Archmage's quarters. He was already waiting.

"Excellent. I've dug out some of my tools. We should make some real headway today."

Deanne had a clipper in her hand before Mirabelle had even left the room. It wasn't long before she'd been swept up in the Archmage's enthusiasm for the work. Not that she wouldn't have enjoyed it otherwise; working with ingredients on the alchemy table—mostly through trial and error—was interesting. But understanding the plants in their earthly stage gave her insight. She came to learn why ingredients did what they did. Why the leaves of some plants held some quality while others didn't.

For the entire day, Deanne acted as the Archmage's assistant; following him through the garden area and tending to this task or that when he turned to another. She learned the general layout of the chamber and several noteworthy storage locations, and how to find her way to and from them without incident. Once certain her curiosity was welcomed, Deanne began asking questions en mass. The Archmage's voice grew hoarser as the hours flew by but he showed no signs of stopping. It was rewarding work in every sense, whether they were elbow deep in foliage, or picking the petals off of blooms. There was just so much to learn!

By day's end they did indeed have the garden well in hand and several collected ingredients processed for storage and use. Although…they still hadn't made a single potion. Mentioning as much earned her another clear and energetic laugh. Deanne returned to her room with dirt under her fingernails, limbs scarcely strong enough to lift their weight, and a dozen scents still clinging to her palms. And she couldn't have been more pleased.

Deanne set aside her fur mantle inside the door and went about carefully scrubbing her hands clean in her room's washbasin. She was so tired that she didn't notice someone approaching until they had actually entered her room.

"So…" Ancano's very first word froze the woman and sent a chill down her spine. "It seems the Archmage has a new favorite." He was perfectly aware of her discomfort. Reveled in it, even. The Thalmor entered without invitation, gliding over to her wardrobe. One of her drawers slid open as he remarked, "You are certainly moving up in the world. Private lessons with the College's primary Enchanter _and_ the Archmage, all in the same month. Most…impressive." One by one, her drawers opened, and every clunk of their closing made Deanne's spine tighten. Her hands were starting to tremble in the basin.

"I wonder," he continued, opening the doors of her wardrobe in the process. "What might warrant such interest from two illustrious members of such a fine establishment? One could hardly credit your _expertise_." The sneer crawled up her skin. Deanne began scrubbing up her forearms as he continued to speak. "Then I thought: perhaps the significance is not your own qualities, but the qualities of those you gravitate towards. These are powerful magic users whose company you seem to find yourself in. Why, I wonder? Do you think to discover their secrets? Learn the means by which they have attained their greatness? Perhaps take it for yourself?" The wardrobe snapped closed and Deanne jumped, not daring to turn from the basin and face her aggressor.

He strode the distance to her, coming to a halt too close. The Thalmor loomed behind her, hissing over her shoulder, "Or are you indeed as weak as you appear and merely appeal to these superior mages for the protection? Or have you some other intent that no one has yet gleaned from behind that frail façade?"

Deanne cringed inward, hands clasped tightly together in the washbasin to keep them from shaking.

But he saw. He must have. Why else would he chuckle so cruelly, and remain so close for so long? "Regardless, I believe you warrant close observation." The voice was a cold needle, lacing into her heart. He held that position over her until Deanne was afraid to breath. Only then did he withdraw and stride out of her doorway, somehow leaving the terrible weight of his presence behind.

Only when the Hall's front door had closed did Deanne's breath burst free, the woman slumping forward against the edges of the basin. She shook, gasped, tried to calm herself, her body still ringing with a fight or flight instinct.

'_If Ancano speaks to you again, about anything, I want you to come and tell me right away.'_

Faralda's words echoed from her memory. Despite how exhausted she was and the evening hour, Deanne wrapped herself in her fur mantle once again and left her room, rushing for the promised safety of Faralda's chamber.

XXX

"That supercilious, conceited, preening, conniving snake! Stendarr's mercy, I can't—No. No, I _can_ believe it. Divines help me, I can't understand how he is tolerated. Every time we turn around, he's doing something!"

Faralda was not taking Deanne's recounting well. It was difficult to tell how much of it was in defense of Deanne and how much was that Faralda hated this man. And she did hate him. Deanne could feel the air charge with volatile magic, the source of which was the magister now pacing the room. But she didn't worry. This room felt secure. Something about the walls. There was magic deliberately woven into them. Faralda had said once that Ancano 'knew better' than to snoop around in here anymore. Deanne smiled a little thinking about a destructive rune going off when he'd tried to search around where he shouldn't have.

Something snapped in the air over on the table, like the crack of a flame, and Faralda stopped pacing immediately. The magister took a few very deep breaths on the spot and, slowly, the charge in the air faded away. Then she turned to Deanne.

"That's it. You need to learn some Destruction spells. _Ah_! Not a word. I know what you're going to say, and I understand. But you need to be able to defend yourself. You may never have cause to use it, but you need to have something."

"But, Faralda—"

"Don't 'But, Faralda' me. I am teaching Morndas morning. I'll come and get you myself beforehand. Now, there is the matter of where you will be sleeping tonight. We've cots and extra blankets. I can set one up for you in here if you don't feel your own room secure after that one was in there."

"Oh, no! Faralda, it's fine. I don't want to impose."

Magister Faralda made a displeased sound, but accepted her answer. "I want to set up a few runes in your room, though. Something to...deter him in the future."

The process of placing the runes was much like how she'd assisted with healings in Skingrad: Faralda used both their magickas to place the explosive symbols on the ground. And, because the spells seemed to know Deanne, they would not go off when she stepped into them. "Any mage will be able to sense them and know better than to come in. And any who don't will deserve to lose their eyebrows." And Faralda left with a renewed promise that Deanne would be attending her lecture.

So Deanne was set to learn a new school of magic. However, the time between now and then was sure to be spent, not in anticipation, but apprehension.

XXX

That had been…excruciating. Sitting in a classroom of real mages, trying to maintain a handful of flames while the other students were forming fireballs. The fact that Faralda took every available minute to cosset Deanne's meager attempts made the experience all the worse.

"It's alright, Deanne. I'm sure you'll get it after a while," Brelyna insisted as she walked Deanne back towards the Hall of Attainment.

"But I don't _want _to get it. I'm…" She tugged her hood forward and fondled the edge, seeking comfort from the softness. "It's not the difficulty. Really. The spells feel just like what Enchanter Sergius has me doing when I enchant weaponry. I know how fire and frost and electricity _feel _in magic. It's that…It's that _I'm_ making it. It's that _I'm_ the source and not the finite energy in a soul gem. I mean…if I use a little more magicka and I could really hurt someone!"

"I think that's sort of the point," Brelyna pointed out, trying to lighten the mood as they came into the Hall.

Deanne just deflated. "I don't know how Faralda thinks I'm going to start casting runes or cloaks. I just don't _like_ Destruction magic." She'd rather think about the next Enchanting assignment that Enchanter Sergius had in store for her. Or if she and the Archmage would actually get to potion-making the next time they met. Something else. Anything else.

"Well…maybe another school. What about Conjuration? Oh!" She clapped her hands gleefully. "I'd love to see you sick a flame atronach on Ancano. Or a dremora! One of those big churls. Or a kynreeve!"

"Brelyna, I haven't touched Conjuration. Ever," Deanne said, pausing at the focus point to run her hands through the flow of magicka. The pleasant buzzing of energy as it wrapped around her skin was more calming than the Destruction magic she'd been handling earlier. "And if you want someone to set an atronach on him, why don't you do it?"

"Because you're the only one no one thinks would do it, so you're the only one who could get away with it. You'd be your own alibi!"

Deanne giggled with her friend, reasonably sure that Brelyna was joking. On another note, "The flow seems a little slow. I think I should do a cleansing." It was about that time. And it would take her mind off today's disaster. Brelyna left Deanne to retrieve the enchanted gloves and went to get something of her own before leaving for her next class.

Deanne returned to the focus point with a bag on her shoulder and began the process of removing the crystals from the bottom. The door to the Hall opened and a few of the other apprentices entered. Most went about their own business, with none of those who'd witnessed today's class making a comment, thank the Eight.

But one came to the focus point and stood beside her. "J'Zargo greets you."

She paused in her work, not wishing to be rude, and turned toward him. "Hello, J'Zargo. Did you need something?"

"J'Zargo is hearing some strange rumors," he said, almost eagerly. "He is hearing that you are taking lessons with the Archmage himself. Is this true?"

Well…that hadn't taken long to get out. "I…am. He's an alchemist. We've been working in his garden together and studying the flora. It's very interesting."

"I see." The Khajiit sidled forward and lowered his voice a little. "Perhaps J'Zargo might be able to be a part of these lessons. He is sure to excel at Alchemy as he does all else. And he would greatly like to meet the Archmage."

Deanne hesitated. "I don't think that would be possible. Unless…Perhaps you could talk to Magister Mirabelle about it? She's the one who decided I could study with him."

"Oh, come on. J'Zargo is sure the Archmage would not mind. One more set of hands, yes? And J'Zargo's fingers are skilled and his eyes are sharp."

Deanne's stomach twisted, feeling pressured not to stand in the way of someone learning something new. Except— "You'll need to ask Mirabelle. Maybe she would let you come along. But, I don't make that decision."

J'Zargo's genial demeanor evaporated. "J'Zargo wonders what you can learn from the Archmage at all. He saw you in the Destruction magic class today. You could hardly hold a spell. Why should you learn from the great ones and J'Zargo should not?"

"I'm not saying you couldn't," she insisted. "You'll just need to ask Mirabelle first. I don't decide that sort of thing."

He huffed, miffed. "Anything the blind mage could do, J'Zargo is sure to do better." His attention shifted. "What is it you do here?"

Deanne turned to the focus point, more than happy to change topics. "I'm cleansing the focus point. It needs to be done periodically so that the flow of magic through the College stays clear."

The apprentice surveyed her progress. "J'Zargo could do this. And in half the time!"

"It's not a race," she said. "And no, it's not very difficult."

"Ha! You say it yourself: J'Zargo could do this better. You see?" Before she could react, J'Zargo had leaned over the stonework and plunged his hand down into the molten magic of the focus point. Almost immediately he leapt back with a yowl, scattering the viscous liquid as he danced around, trying to alleviate the surge of magic he'd suffered.

"Are you alright?!"

"J'Zargo is fine!" he hissed, growling unhappily. He soon stalked back up to the focus point. "There is a trick, no doubt. J'Zargo will find it."

Deanne removed the magically enchanted gloves quickly. "These will protect you. Magister Neloran gave them to me for the task." She didn't argue when he snatched them from her with a sense of entitlement. She didn't want him hurting himself, after all.

J'Zargo must have put on the gloves because he reached into the focus point and began rooting around the bottom for crystals without complaint. Deanne reached around for her bag and held it open for him to place the crystals inside. It was a bestowal he was resistant to give, but ultimately took advantage of. Though she did hear him place a few into his pockets.

"You see? This is not so difficult."

"No, it isn't. There are two more to do: in the courtyard and in the other hall. Would you like to do those too?"

"J'Zargo does not need your help for this." He took the bag from her hands and strode toward the door without waiting.

"Please bring the gloves back when you're done!" she called after him. She thought he might have huffed in response but couldn't quite hear it before he snapped the door closed.

With nothing else to do, Deanne went to her chamber and sat down to wait, practicing her warding in the meantime. A few people came and went from the Hall: apprentices meandering in to retrieve items before leaving, or settling in to study upstairs. J'Zargo's reentrance was one she could discern by his footsteps. Khajiit's paces were distinct. He was walking slowly, and went directly toward his room rather than come to her.

Deanne stood at his entrance and went to her doorway to address him. "J'Zargo." She could have sworn he jumped a little bit. Funny. So one could sneak up on a Khajiit. "Are you finished already?"

"Uh…J'Zargo has realized that this task is not worth his time. He sees now why you are the one doing it. He has much more important magical tasks to complete."

"Oh." It had seemed like they might have had something to talk about. Or at least do together. But… "Alright. I understand. May I have the bag and gloves back, please? I can finish up if you haven't."

There was a hesitation. Then he came over and dropped the strap of the bag over her outstretched arm. She reached in to check the contents while he turned back to his chamber. "J'Zargo." He stopped. "Where are the gloves?"

"Oh, they are somewhere. This one is sure."

"Where?" she pressed. "You had them when you left. Where did you leave them?"

He became defensive. "J'Zargo knows when he had them and when he did not."

That was hardly an answer. "So where are the gloves?"

"…"

"J'Zargo." Deanne was getting anxious. "J'Zargo!" The anxious knot tightened, and she stepped around the well to pursue him when he started to walk away. "What happened to the gloves, J'Zargo?!"

He hesitated again, the silence making her unease worse. "J'Zargo's claws…might have punctured one."

"You what?!"

"It is not J'Zargo's fault! The gloves were small, and he keeps himself well groomed. They are just gloves. This one is sure you have others."

Deanne stopped. "You…I don't have any others. Those were the only ones…"

"Oh. Well…It is not so important. J'Zargo has other things to do."

Deanne stood there dazed. And then, astonishingly, she became…angry. "It is important! How could you?"

He tried to defend himself. "It was not J'Zargo's fault. The gloves were not made for Khajiit hands—"

"No!" she shouted. She would have been startled herself if she hadn't been so worked up. "No, this is not alright! I gave you those gloves. I trusted you when you said you could do this!"

"It is not so important—"

"It is important! It affects the whole College!" She was fuming. Yes, fuming! "The focus points purify magic for the College and for everyone here. Everyone's work is affected when they're not cleansed. And you, taking the task and then claiming it's not important when you fail—How dare you? How _dare you_?!" She moved toward him, needing to move—to advance on him. How dare he?! "You don't get to pretend something isn't important when you can't do it. You belittle this entire institute and everyone in it, and everything it is trying to accomplish. _How dare you?!_" She couldn't believe she was shouting at him. Couldn't believe she was _shouting_. "Where are the gloves? …_Where_?!"

"The courtyard," he replied, his voice somewhat smaller and a little frayed. Had she actually cowed him?

Deanne swung the bag over her shoulder and stormed—yes, _stormed_—out of the Hall.

Gods above, she'd never been this angry before. In fact, she'd never been _angry _before. Never! Never shouted at someone. Never retaliated when something had been done to her. But, by the Eight, this was important! And she was furious about it!

She almost lost her way to the courtyard focus point. The noise of it helped. By the time she reached it, Deanne had lost the burst of angry adrenaline she'd had in the Hall. Oh dear, how was she to find the gloves? Where were they? She circled the stone, hands running along the edges, and came across a handful of fabric: one of the gloves, the fingertips ripped from where claws had punctured through. She handled the material, checking it to see—Oh, no. The enchantment was gone. Bled out with the tear, leaving the glove unremarkable.

Deanne's chest hitched. Where was the other one? Was it still intact? She needed to remember to breath before the panic set it. She finished her journey around the well and found nothing more. Her mind rushed. Perhaps he'd tossed it on the ground. But where? How far? She'd need to ask someone to come help her look. It was snowing. She should do that soon before the glove was buried.

There was an irregular sound of something breaking the surface of the focus point. Deanne's hand leapt out and she just caught the edge of sodden fabric before it vanished underneath again, pulled by the current within the focus point. Deanne lunged against the edge, her hip bones pressed almost painfully into the stonework, listening intently for the glove to reappear so she could capture it. But...after several minutes…nothing! No, no, no, where had it gone?!

Thoughts flurried. There was a circulating current in the fluid of the well. And there was no outlet, so it had to still be in there. But…was it caught on something? One of the gems at the bottom? Oh, no. If it was caught down there... The other glove wouldn't insulate her anymore. Maybe a stick? She could poke around and try to dislodge it. Would that damage the focus point? Pollute it more?

Or maybe…maybe she could just reach in quickly. She wasn't trying to collect the gems, just find the glove. If she could just reach in and grab it back… Deanne chewed on her lip, still listening for the glove to appear. She didn't want to go back to the Hall of Attainment for a tool. Not after her outburst.

She rolled her sleeve up and reached in. The fluid buzzed, wrapping, thick and alive, around her arm. She reached down, right to the limit of where it became painful…then rushed for the bottom.

It burned! Pure magic slammed into her, forcing power under her skin and up her arm. It hurt! She bit back a cry and flailed around erratically, bumping her fingers against crystal and stone for as long as she could before pulling her arm out. She gasped in relief and cradled her arm close. Even out of the well, her skin still buzzed, the overload of energy persisting, flowing the rest of the way through her as her system sought equilibrium. She breathed deep, until the painful buzzing dissipated. Then, like a madwoman, she stepped back up to the stone ring. Oh, she had to be mad. But…she needed that glove!

Once again, she reached into the deepest part of the well, gritting against the purified magic assaulting her as she searched around for cloth. By the Eight, it was indescribable. And she had to do it three more times. Even taking time to recover, the buildup of magic left her heady. And with each subsequent exposure, she could feel more: the pulsing veins of magic as they were drawn from the stone of the College, the billowing currents that were thrown upward to dance through the air, protection and fuel for this place where power was drawn and centered. Caught in the flow, she could feel the very heartbeat of the College of Winterhold.

So much so that she almost didn't register when something softly brushed her fingers. The glove! Deanne seized the billowing bit and yanked it out of its captor's clutches. A crystal came loose from the gesture, but so did the glove and she pulled it from the well.

Deanne needed a long few minutes to regain her senses. That had been… the College like that. Feeling beyond herself like that. It was like her first encounter with the ocean all over again, the sphere of her world expanded. And not just by sound. She'd _felt_ the College. The stone, the air, the weld and waft of it's power. The echo was still in her soul.

The article of cloth in her hand cut through the froth of magicka still in her system. Despite being overcharged, her fingers still buzzing from the exposure, she was able to assess its condition. Undamaged. Despite having been submerged in the well, the enchantment in the glove was no worse for wear. Sergius's work, no doubt. Deanne sighed with relief and slumped back against the focus point. It was alright.

But now there was only one glove. She didn't strictly need both gloves for the task, unless there was a particularly large gem. But what if Magister Neloran asked for them back? She'd allowed another apprentice to take the task without conferring with the magister. Magister Neloran had entrusted the task to _her _and she hadn't considered that J'Zargo might damage the gloves. What was she going to tell him? This was her fault!

But maybe… She could make new ones. She had the expertise, an article carrying the necessary enchantment, another soul gem from Enchanter Sergius. Yes, she could fix this. She could fix this! Magister Neloran wouldn't get precisely the same gloves back if he asked for them. But she could have something to give him if he did.

Deanne hurried back toward the Hall of Attainment. By the Eight, she could still feel it. The unbridled flow of magic through her left Deanne's senses open and raw. She could feel the magic around her: the veins dug deep and moving through the College walls, the currents wafting through the air, flowing around her. She could almost see the world around her, etched in magic in her mind's eye. It was…amazing!

—The glove. She needed to mend the glove.

But, by Aetherius, she would never forget this feeling.

**Auh, J'Zargo. You drove Deanne to a shout. Jerk!**

**Thanks for reading. I'll see you next update.**


	22. Familiarity

**Here would be your next update. Does Deanne still have a spine? Does she? Does she?!**

"This one will be better, Deanne. I'm sure of it. I mean, you can't be good at everything you do." Brelyna paused and then, in a louder voice, added, "Something _some_ people should keep in mind." At another table there was a feline grumble, but J'Zargo offered no retort. A few apprentices within hearing distance sniggered and Deanne hunkered down over her table, her face burning up under her hood. How long before they all forgot about that? Brelyna sat back in her seat beside Deanne and hissed softly to her, "I still can't believe him. Such a jerk."

Deanne didn't have the time to respond as Magister Phinis Gestor, the resident Conjuration master, called the class to order. "Let's get started. Summoning. It is a significant part of the Conjuration field. Now when I speak of summoning, what sort of creatures does this refer to?"

Someone behind Deanne and Brelyna, when prompted, answered, "Daedra and atronachs."

Another apprentice scoffed at them. "Atronachs _are_ daedra."

"Don't interrupt my class, Yisra," Magister Gestor replied. "I do not require your assistance to correct my students. And yes, atronachs are elemental varieties of daedra. Now, how many of you have successfully summoned an atronach before?" There were sounds of hands being raised. "Good. Now, how many of you have summoned a familiar before?" A few more hands moved. "Hm. Summoning a familiar is one of the first spells a Conjurer should master. They provide protection, or distractions depending on what you summon. But, more importantly than that, they provide an additional connection to the magical forces. Familiars are summoned from the fabric that exists and separates the planes of existence; the fabric we draw on for all magic. This is why they are the simplest to summon. You needn't bother reaching through into the realms of Oblivion like you must for a daedra, nor do you require a true name. While a familiar is summoned, you will find your spells easier to cast overall. This affect is unique to familiars. Keep that in mind or you'll be in for a surprise when you summon a daedra and realize you've gotten dependent.

"We will begin by summoning familiars." There was a collective groan which the Magister ignored. "Once you have successfully summoned your familiar, we will move on to atronachs, since some of you clearly need a lesson on them. The two of you who have not managed a familiar yet will be partnered with someone to show you how. Any volunteers?"

Brelyna's arm leapt up immediately. "I'll help Deanne."

"Good. And…Yisra. Since you are so well informed, you will assist J'Zargo with his casting. Now, everyone, on your feet. Let's get on with it. There are spell tomes on the wall for those of you having trouble."

Deanne stood with Brelyna and took her guidance out to the open work area where they were to be doing the summoning. "It's really easy," Brelyna told her. "One of the first spells I learned." Deanne felt something happen: a warping of the air, something opening, and then there was a pop followed by the scuffling sound of some sort of small creature moving around on the floor. "I call her Jewel. Isn't she cute? Oh!" Brelyna checked herself, mortified. "I'm so sorry. I—"

"It's okay. I know. Um…what is she?"

Her friend perked up. "She's an otter. She used to keep me company when I was left on my own." She edged closer and whispered, "I used to summon her to play when I was supposed to be studying." Deanne grinned and they giggled together until Magister Gestor snapped that they weren't here to gossip and to get back to work.

All around, familiars were popping into existence. Deanne felt multiple warps and openings and more creatures appeared, making various noises as they did so. The Magister moved among them, approving or issuing instructions for improvement or repeated summonings. But it seemed most would shortly be moving on to atronachs today.

"Hey," Brelyna whispered. "Looks like J'Zargo needs a spell book after all. Uh…I guess that's not really an option for us, is it?"

Deanne replied, "No, not really. But I can feel it. The spell, I mean. I think if you just cast it a few times, I can figure it out. Would you?"

"Of course." Again, her companion perked up and, with another warping, the creature before them disappeared. Brelyna tried to explain what she was doing. "You have to feel the magic in yourself and then reach through to where it originates. I think it's where we connect to magic as a whole. It's…I don't really know how to say it."

"I know what you mean," Deanne assured her. She could feel it.

"Oh thank Azura. I'm really not much of a teacher, sorry. But I do know that you don't have to worry about summoning something specific. It's…I don't know. It's like your familiar is there already. It's already yours and it already knows you. You just have to call it and give it a way through to reach you. That's why I have so much trouble with daedra; with those you have to know exactly what you're summoning. Their 'true name', like Gestor said. Which makes it…kind of embarrassing. Dunmer are supposed to be good at Conjuration. And that's what my parents sent me here to study—Anyway! Sorry. Off topic. Um…the spell. Right. I was going to cast it a few times."

And she did. Deanne stood nearby and focused on what Brelyna was doing. The push and pull on the fabric of the world around them, there but not, and then the familiar coming through, answering the 'call'. There wasn't any hand waving or speaking. Just an opening and then the familiar was there, and Deanne tried to piece together the process one casting at a time.

Magister Gestor made it to them before Deanne had attempted the spell herself. "How are we managing here?"

Brelyna's confidence suffered a bit under the scrutiny. "I'm showing Deanne how to cast the spell. Since we can't use a spell tome."

"Hm. And you? Think you can do it by now?"

Deanne hesitated, much the same as her friend. "I think so."

"Let's see it then. You have to start somewhere."

Deanne swallowed and turned to an open space on the floor. Right. She had to start somewhere. The woman focused on her magic, reaching out until she felt the world warp like it had around Brelyna's summoning. Now she just had to call, right? …How did she call?

"Focus on your need," the Magister supplied when he sensed she had hit a wall. "Magic always flows from have to want. You have to want what you're summoning. Provide a need for the familiar to follow. That will give it a means and a reason to come through. Have the need in mind before you open the way."

Deanne nodded rather than speak and did as she was told. She needed her familiar. Not for anything in particular. Just needed it. Wanted it to be here. She focused on that, and repeated the reach and warp.

The affect was immediate. The instant she opened the way, something on the other side heard her and she felt its attention. It surged and barreled through the space she'd weakened, bursting out into Mundus to reach her.

Brelyna shrieked in surprise, and her still summoned Jewel yipped and skittered somewhere behind her. Most of the rest of the activity in the room ceased. Even the Magister showed interest. "Well, someone's a bit exuberant." Deanne only vaguely registered it all. Her attention was on the creature.

It was…big. She could tell by how it breathed. A hulking beast. With its attention solely on her. She felt its mind in hers. Or against it, at least. But she definitely felt a connection to the creature, and that it was very focused on her. But…what was she supposed to do now?

Again, the Magister gave her some direction. "Well, introduce yourself. The first summoning is important."

Deanne still couldn't get over the size. An animal this large, that sounded like that, certainly seemed like the sort that would hurt her. Would it?

She swallowed and tried to stop herself shaking. The attention of most of the class wasn't helping. She lifted her hand and tried to work up the courage to step towards it. The mind against her mind comprehended the intent and the creature moved before she did, padding over, nails clicking on the stone floor. Deanne gasped when it thrust its large muzzle under her palm.

Its breath ghosted up her forearm as Deanne tried to fight her heartrate down. Divines, it was big. She moved her hand a little, rubbing along the familiar's jawline. A sense of pleasure reverberated from its mind into hers, so she repeated the gesture until she was running her hand over its head and scratching behind its ears. It was some sort of hound. Or wolf. But one that stood well above her waist. Divines, it was _big_!

The Magister circled them while Deanne hesitantly acquainted herself with her familiar. The familiar was aware of the man and vaguely suspicious, but largely uninterested. "I admit, I've not seen a familiar quite like this one. Some sort of prehistoric wolf, I think. Not a species still in existence, for certain. Well done. Give it some instructions. Let's see what it can do."

She wasn't sure what he meant for her to say. But the 'provide a need' instruction remained in mind. Perhaps 'sit'?

Deanne didn't even need to say it. At the thought alone, the familiar shifted under her hand and its haunches hit the floor.

Alright, that worked. Um…'heel'?

Again, the familiar moved before she put her thought into words and it padded over, turned around and sat down at her side, shoving its massive head back beneath her hand the moment it had.

Okay, that had worked, too. What about something else? How much would it understand of something she couldn't see, for example? Something or somewhere she couldn't mentally direct it to. Like fetching a spell book from…wherever they were.

The familiar surged up and bounded across the room. People yelled and she heard J'Zargo yowl and hit the ground. The familiar growled warningly, and bounded back toward her. It skidded to a halt and proceeded to thrust a volume under her palm, directly supplying her want.

Magister Gestor was quite pleased. "Well, that is something. And all you're doing is thinking at it, yes? That's quite a close connection. Did you ask for that book specifically?"

"No, sir. I'm not…even sure what book this is."

"Hm. I would recommend you spend the rest of the class getting that spell down, which shouldn't be difficult if he already responds to your will alone, and testing the limits for your instructions. Without disrupting the rest of the class. J'Zargo, you're next. Let's see your familiar." And the Magister moved off to assist the Khajiit.

Brelyna sidled up next to Deanne, somewhat cautiously. "By Azura, Deanne, he's huge!"

"I know," Deanne agreed, and reached out to pet her familiar's head again. He leaned into it, his tail thumping lightly on the floor.

"Well…I don't think you'll need to learn any Destruction after all. If anyone bothers you, you can just summon this fellow and he'll eat them."

Deanne laughed aloud and then clapped her mouth shut when it was louder than she expected. No disrupting the class, after all.

"So what are you gonna call him?"

"Do I have to call him something?"

"I guess you don't have to. I mean, I named mine. But my parents didn't name theirs. I guess it's a personal preference."

Deanne scratched her nails between the familiar's shoulder blades, an activity he really enjoyed, ducking his head and letting his jaw loll open to pant. "…He's a wolf, right?"

"A huge wolf!" Brelyna agreed exuberantly.

"Do you think 'Fang' would be too on the nose?"

"I think that would be right on the nose."

Deanne turned back to her familiar. "Fang then. What do you think of it?" Fang leaned harder into her, giving a pleased throaty whine. "Alright then. I suppose I need to send him back to summon him again. How do I send him back?"

Brelyna replied, "I think you just open up the way again and he goes back. That's how it's always worked for me."

Deanne did so. Without a doubt, there was a natural pull on Fang from the other side, but he resisted, staying right under her hand. And she could feel he was unhappy about the prospect of going away. She laughed self-consciously. "He doesn't want to leave."

She actually needed to prompt him to go before he went through. He did, eventually. And was more than happy to come back when she called again, becoming more willing with the back and forth once he knew she'd call him to her repeatedly.

After the initial shock of him, Deanne found Fang to be...well, very _familiar_. Like he'd always been there. Which made the name for the creature summoning make a lot of sense. They were familiars because they were familiar with their summoner. How about that. And Brelyna was right, even if a familiar was supposed to make casting easier, Fang would definitely provide her with protection as well. After all, who would want to mess with a four foot tall wolf just to get at her?

XXX

Deanne pushed open the door to the Hall of Attainment. Fang nosed it fully open and pushed inside, walking down the stairs at a pace that let her keep a hand on his back at all times. They'd gotten very good at keeping that constant contact, even given the tight spiral of the staircase.

Brelyna was in the dining area when Deanne got there. "Hey Deanne… What's with the smile?"

"What smile?" Deanne asked, trying unsuccessfully to smother said expression.

"That smile. What? What happened? Something happened."

Deanne let the grin loose and sat down next to her friend, Fang lowering himself to the ground next to her and dropping his head on her foot. "…We went to the Arcanaeum and back…by the ramparts…all the way around."

Brelyna sat up in place. "No! You? Alone?!"

Deanne nodded enthusiastically. Fang caught the excitement, chuffing and sidling forward to shove his head up on her knee under the table, thumping his brow in the process. Not that he cared. The girls laughed. "I know. Isn't it great?!"

Her friend was torn at the news. "That's…that is great. Oh my gosh, Deanne, wow! But…aren't you worried about something happening?"

"I was—I mean, I guess I still am but…" She gave Fang a fond scratch along the powerful cords of his neck, getting a happy thumping of his tail in return. "I'm not scared to go somewhere new anymore. I mean, I am a little. But I know that I can get back. That's…" She was positively giddy to have this fear off her shoulders. "I know that, no matter where I go in the College, if I get lost or turned around, I know that he'll bring me back to somewhere familiar. He's so smart! He knows the Halls of Attainment and Countenance. The Arcanaeum. The Hall of Elements. I just have to tell him where to take me and he can get me there. Mirabelle said she wouldn't necessarily need to escort me for Alchemy every time now that I have a ready guide. Brelyna, I've never felt this free to move around before. Never! And it's…it's wonderful! did you know you can hear the ocean from up on the wall behind the College?"

Her glee came across. "Deanne, I'm so happy for you. How long have you had him summoned?"

"A few hours."

"That's a really great cast. And he's such a sweety! I mean, scary as Oblivion, but a real sweety. Oh, just look at him. He's like a happy puppy!"

Brelyna started gushing and Fang permitted her to give him some attention, though he largely didn't care about anyone's attention but Deanne's. Every day, every cast, the familiar proved he wasn't just bonded with Deanne; he adored her! Every time she stood to go somewhere and he immediately set himself under her hand, or when he sat on her foot as she was practicing spells, or lay up against her calves when she was working at the Arcane Enchanter, he showed it again and again. Magister Gestor had warned about getting magically dependent on a familiar. But Deanne was well on her way to becoming emotionally—and perhaps functionally—dependent on hers.

Both Fang's and her ears perked at an entrance downstairs. Fang possessed senses beyond her own and his whole body stiffened. The wolf pulled himself out from underneath the table and stood behind her, facing the door, on alert. Even Brelyna tightened up at the familiar's shift.

Through Fang, Deanne felt the threat wander downstairs and then ascend to their level. She identified him just before he came into the room, and Fang took up a low growl in his throat. Any hope of Ancano merely passing them by was lost when he stopped at the door and then turned to enter instead. "Well, well. This is certainly something. Quite a large familiar for such a small girl. Feeling a bit…vulnerable, I take it? I suppose having such a beast at your side negates the need to be learned in other areas." His sneer twisted the familial atmosphere they'd shared only a moment ago. "Perhaps you could teach your companion something on the subject of Conjuration. I understand her family would be most eager to receive news of improvement."

Brelyna tensed up even more. And Fang's growl leapt from his throat. The vague amusement in Ancano's voice scattered. "Exercise some control over your beast, _child_, lest he become a danger to those around you."

Maybe it was the fact that she had a defender at her back. Maybe it was that she could cast spells for herself, or that she'd actually spoken out—rather loudly—in regards to a wrongdoing already. But, instead of backing down and curling inward, Deanne responded plainly, "You make me uncomfortable. He can tell. Perhaps you should leave."

Ancano sharpened at her words. "My presence is not dependent on your 'comfort'," he declared just as evenly, but she could sense a hint of anxiety in his voice.

Fang could as well, and the betrayal of fear was enough of a reason for him to lunge a half step forward, snarling and snapping his teeth at the Thalmor in a show of aggression. Deanne sat up at the sound, not in fear but at the tug of a memory. That sound… She'd heard that sound before.

Deanne scarcely noticed the faint inhale from the doorway or the physical jump on the seat next to her. It was only when she sensed the waft of a Destruction spell drawn to hand by the Thalmor that Deanne realized she needed to keep the situation from devolving. The woman twisted in her seat and placed a hand on Fang's raised shoulder blades. The fur on his back was well raised, and she could feel the hostile growl on each of his breaths. She squeezed a handful of fur, urging him to gentle, but not holding so tight that he could not charge if the need arose.

"He thinks you're threatening me. You should leave."

At first it seemed Ancano might speak again, but Fang's threatening stance must have stayed him. He was a terribly large wolf. After a moment pretending to make the decision for himself, Ancano turned and stalked away, back downstairs and out of the Hall, having reconsidered the importance of whatever he'd come in here for. Fang's hackles remained up until the door below had shut. Deanne reach over and stroked his head, soothing the familiar.

This confrontation couldn't have helped her relationship with the Thalmor himself, but at least they both knew she was no longer defenseless. But she could worry about that later. There was something more immediate to consider.

Deanne excused herself from the dining room after a few minutes, and she and Fang went downstairs together to her chamber. She took a seat in a chair and Fang planted himself directly in front, facing her. At this level they must have been almost eye to eye. Deanne kept still, feeling his being up against her mind. And recognizing it.

"…We met, didn't we? Before I summoned you." The familiar didn't react. But she could sense he understood. "It was in the Dreamstride. I remember…when I tried to find Vilkas, I went somewhere. I saw a wolf there, behind the fence of roots and branches. Several. Giant wolves. …Were you one of them?" Her familiar lowered his head and started snuffing at her knees. Were he a person she might say he was avoiding answering the question. "Were you the one at the fence?" Fang bumped his nose against her knee. In truth, she didn't need him to answer. She knew. The echoes of then and him, and now— "You frightened me. You came at the fence. I saw your teeth. Your claws. You tried to get at me. I thought you were going to kill me."

The great wolf shifted on the floor, laying down and then giving a small, apologetic whimper as he squirmed forward and propped his head on her lap. He meant her no harm. However that first meeting had occurred, she could feel his dedication now. How much he _wanted _to be here with her.

Deanne reached up and smoothed a hand over the fur on his head. It was very thick and surprisingly soft. He whimpered plaintively again and squirmed closer still, shoving his muzzle up against her abdomen. His throat was partly choked against the edge of the chair but he didn't seem to mind.

Deanne continued to pet him, but couldn't help but wonder, "Why did _you _answer my conjuring?"

XXX

"Well, he is something, isn't he?" The Archmage was bent over, staring Fang in the face. "I've heard of hounds being trained as eyes for the blind. It's a very specialized training, though. And hardly something most can afford access to. And he's been able to guide you about without incident?"

"Yes, sir. I've been through most of the College. Or, around the main classrooms at least. I've been attending more, too. Of the classes. Now that I'm not worried about getting to and from."

"Oh?" the Archmage stood up, more attracted to the topic of magical learning than the extra-large familiar. "And what sort of classes are those?"

They went over to the alchemy table as they spoke. Fang couldn't take his usual spot against her calves, so he chose to lay down against the garden wall, the pair of mages within view and easy reach. "Alteration with Magister Tolfdir. There's a spell to 'detect life' that I can use to sense the living forces of those around me. But I need to work up to it. I'm also attending Magister Neloran's Illusion lectures and Magister Colette's regular classes for Restoration." Magister Colette seemed to teach the class like she was still instructing Deanne alone. Which was almost the case; few students showed up. Small wonder the Magister had been so enthusiastic when Deanne first showed interest.

"Aha! That is quite a list. Most people choose to specialize in one school, but I think having a well-rounded grasp of magic is a finer thing at this stage of learning. As you have such a fine grasp of your familiar summoning, have you gone much further with your Conjuration?"

"Not yet. And I'm not sure I will. There seems to be a lot of ritual to summoning daedra. More than I can get from just listening right now. I think I'd need a tutor to really move forward and, I agree with you, I'm not ready to specialize so much on one school." The other applications of the school—conjuring weapons, reanimating the dead, and soul trapping—were not the sort she saw herself using in the future. And, really, that last one made her shudder a little bit. "Actually…there was something I wanted to ask you—How fine does the grass pod need to be?"

The Archmage leaned over her shoulder. "A bit finer than that. There are some sieves on the second shelf to your right—let me." He went around behind her and plucked something off the shelf, fiddled with it and handed it to her. "The sieve size is engraved on the side. Here. We want fifty grams that passes through this one: two of our five parts. Use the weighted scale in front of you." He returned to his side, dealing with some solutions. "Was that your question?"

"Oh—no." Deanne blushed at how easily she'd gotten sidetracked. It was so easy to get wrapped up in the task while working with this man. "It's about the different schools of magic. I keep noticing…connections. When I'm using a Stoneflesh spell for Alteration, I cast it over myself almost the same way that I cast healing. I mean, it's a different affect, but it's applied the same way to the body. And Illusion and Alteration...they feel the same, too. The only difference is the focus of the affect: one being concentrated on one or a few individuals and the other applied to a wide area. And the warding that Colette teaches me feels like it should be considered an Alteration spell." Deanne tried to wrangle all these examples into something singular. "I guess what I'm saying is: the more I work with all these different schools and different spells, the more difficult it is to find the line dividing them."

The Archmage actually laughed. Laughed! And one of his free, energetic laughs, as though she'd just questioned him about something obvious. "Well, I dare say you have realized something that most mages are utterly blind to." Deanne stopped in her grinding in expectation of the answer. The Archmage continued working, torturing her with the wait. She could practically feel his amusement at her anticipation. Then, finally, he leaned down and whispered, like a secret into her ear, "There is no divide."

He stood up and laughed again at the look on her face. "That is the truth of it. Mages everywhere will argue and bicker about the superiority of this school of magic over that one, or how this or that spell belongs to a different school. Less than two hundred years ago, there was a school of Mysticism that was dissolved entirely, its spells split between Conjuration and Illusion and the like. But the fact remains, magic is singular. We mages divide it into individual schools and spells to make it easier to comprehend and explain and use. Easier to teach and to learn. But the fact is, those divisions only exist in our own minds. Magic itself suffers no such constraint. And that you made note of it now, so early in your studies? That is impressive."

Archmage Aren mused for a moment. "Your lack of sight might have something to do with it. I daresay you might be more attuned to it—your own magic and that around you—than most are, merely out of necessity, much as your other senses have developed to compensate for your eyes."

Deanne turned thoughtful, her hands continuing to sieve the ground grass pod without any deliberate direction from her. Magic was singular. It made perfect sense. It would change how she cast spells, how she handled magic. And as to the other? So perhaps her blindness granted her some side benefit after all.

And speaking of which— "Sir, I think you're about to burn your spriggan sap."

"Hm? My—Sweet Azura!" He leapt for the burner, huffing and puffing at the fumes before the sample's benefit was lost. "Well caught, my dear. If we're not careful, I might grow a bit dependent on you."

Deanne smiled, only too happy to help. The lessons here with him lacked the usual scrutiny and expectations that the other magisters—and apprentices—tended to have. Deanne found she preferred learning without that pressure. "There is one more thing I wanted to ask you."

"Ask away."

"…Can using magic affect your dreams?"

"How so?"

Deanne brushed the grass pod dust onto the scale, hoping her inquiry wasn't an indication at something sinister. "Well, I've been having a dream lately. Just one. Every night. It doesn't change and it's very vivid. And when I wake up, I can remember every detail. That's not normal. Do you think that my studying could be the cause?"

"It is possible. What is the dream?"

"I'm walking down into the lower levels of the College. I follow the same path to a door and…then I wake up."

"No beasts or phantasms?"

"No. I just walk to the door. And I always wake up when I reach it."

"Hm…I'm afraid I can't explain that. Were this a nightmare I might credit some Daedra or other." Deanne had considered that, too. After all, she had defied Vaermina at Nightcaller temple. Was there a chance that She might be trying to lure Deanne to her death? "There are lower levels here at the College. The Midden, it's called. I know it's where mages go to work when…the work is not acceptable by College standards. It always has been. I've tried to keep the area sealed, but not even I know all the entrances. I recommend you put this dream from your mind. The lower levels are dangerous and no place for you to be wandering. Besides, there's enough to occupy yourself up here.

"Speaking of which, I should like to replace those Chaurus egg sacks. Better to have fresh specimens before we attempt an Invisibility potion. And it would be interesting to test the differences between the fresh and long preserved samples."

That seemed the end of that conversation. And Deanne did try to forget the dream. Even though it plagued her sleep with a sense of importance.

**Well...the spine comes and goes. But at least she's got a sidekick now. A big, honkin', 'I'll eat your face' sidekick.  
**

**Thanks for reading.**


	23. Here's Another One

**I'm so glad everyone liked Fang. And Deanne's reappearing spine!**

At the end of their next session, Enchanter Sergius slipped her another filled grand soul gem. This one Deanne used for herself, enchanting her fur mantle to 'resist cold'. Through the winter of Winterhold, Deanne had scampered between the Halls on the days of true blizzards. Although somehow the courtyard was always clear of snow—she guessed some long held enchantment cast over the College to repel most of the flakes—, the cutting winds and icy temperatures bit through to her skin nonetheless. With her own enchantment now wound into the fur wrapped around her shoulders, the blizzards would become bearable. She really should have done this earlier. It would have made the past couple of months easier to handle. Though really, how much kinder would Winterhold spring be than Winterhold winter?

"Oof!" Deanne collided with someone in the courtyard and the books she'd been returning for Brelyna leapt from her arms and scattered onto the ground. Divines! Of course this would happen on one of the few times she made the journey without a guide.

"Oh, I'm so sorry!" The person she'd bumped into was unfamiliar. Which, at this point, meant they were newly come to the College. He blustered, bending to collect the wayward volumes. "I'm so sorry. Let me help you—"

"No, it's alright. I've got it," Deanne insisted. She summoned her magicka to hand and cast it outward like a net across the ground. She felt each of the volumes outlined as her magicka fell upon them. A twist of space and they leapt off the ground and swept together in midair. Deanne stepped up and wrapped her arms around them quickly before releasing the spell. A slightly varied casting of telekinesis, this time succeeding on one attempt.

And it impressed the stranger. "Wow…Can you teach me that?"

Deanne blushed and ducked her head, hiding further under her hood. "Magister Tolfdir could teach you that. I'm still learning myself." She lifted her head, a little, keeping her ears keen. "I don't recognize you. Did you just arrive?" There was a brief stab of pain that, once again, someone else had appeared at the College instead of her brother, but Deanne quickly smothered it.

The new arrival fumbled with his clothes. "Yes—I…" He swept a piece of paper triumphantly out in front of him. "I wrote to the College about enrollment. I got a response back. I'm supposed to talk to Mirabelle Ervine."

"She's our Master Wizard. I'm…" She thought hard, trying to imagine where Mirabelle might be right now. "I'm not sure where she is. But if you wait in the Hall of Elements, that would probably be best. It's sort of the center of the College."

"Sure," he said. "Where is that?"

"I can show you. It's on my way."

"Alright." He shifted and picked up a sizeable burden off the ground, probably his possessions, and Deanne led him across the courtyard toward the Great Hall.

She struggled a moment at the door, working around how to open it without spilling her burden again. He jumped forward. "I've got it!"

Deanne stepped back and let him pull the door open for her. "Thank you."

"That's—uh—quite a lot of books," he asked curiously.

"Oh, they're not mine. I can't read. I'm just returning them to the Arcanaeum for a friend," she told him, pushing open the door into the College. At their entrance, Deanne heard his breath hitch. The Hall was quite a grand feature. One didn't even need eyes to notice. "You can wait for her here. I'll ask around, but I'm sure she'll notice you and help you get settled." Now that Deanne had enchanted her mantle, it was just a little too much to wear inside, so she pulled the fur from her head.

Oh, she should introduce herself. "I'm Deanne, by the way."

His awe of the Hall still held sway. It took a moment for him to react, and then he blustered again. "M'nmond. I mean—" His tongue appeared to have needed wrangling. "Onmund! I'm Onmund. M-my name is Onmund."

Deanne bent her head. "I'm pleased to meet you, Onmund. If you would wait here, I'll go ask after Mirabelle."

"Okay."

Deanne turned and found the door that led upstairs. He seemed nice. His tenor was young and kind, but tentative. Eager to be present at the College, but holding some uncertainty about if he was welcome. She knew the feeling well.

She made her way to the Arcanaeum and returned the books directly to the Arcanaeum's keeper: Urag gro-Shub. While she had his attention, she asked, "Do you know where I might find Mirabelle?"

Urag replied gruffly around his tusks, "Couldn't tell you. She was here this morning, but that's all I can say."

"Thank you." She needed to find the Master Wizard and tell her about the new arrival.

Deanne left the Arcanaeum before reaching out and calling Fang to her. He responded as eagerly as ever, leaping forth at her call and gravitating to her hands on arrival. "I need to find Mirabelle. Do you think you can track her down?" She hadn't asked this of Fang before. He was a wolf, and they could certainly scent out things and people. But he was a spectral wolf, so that sort of thing might not apply the same to him.

It turned out her worry was for nothing. Fang lowered his nose to the floor and then lifted it into the air. He somehow reached into Deanne's own mind and used her identification of the Master Wizard to pick out which scent was hers. Amazing. She'd need to tell Magister Gestor about that later. He'd probably be interested in learning that about her familiar.

Fang, as he always did, came around and placed himself beside her right hip and she sank her fingers into his fur before they stepped forward together. Deanne held on to him as Fang tracked the woman up a flight of stairs and down the hall. It appeared she was in one of the classrooms…the Conjuration classroom. The door was ajar and inside Deanne heard the voices of both Mirabelle and Magister Gestor. She patted Fang fondly, "Well done." Fang chuffed happily in response.

As Deanne came nearer to the door, the conversation within could be heard. "—given the amount of missing supplies."

"How much?"

Magister Gestor's reply was strained. "Enough."

There was a pregnant pause and Deanne hesitated to enter and interrupt. She needed to talk to Mirabelle, but this sounded important. And she didn't want anyone to think she was eavesdropping.

Mirabelle's asked gravely, "What do you suspect?"

"A summoning, obviously. For what, I couldn't say. But I noticed a rune in Balwen's notebook when I passed yesterday." There was a shifting of paper. "It bears resemblance to a Dremora summoning. And look here. In place of the true name."

"Which could very well be an incomplete—"

"If I hadn't seen it myself, I would have said the same. But that is not some half-conceived spell."

Mirabelle was skeptical, but by no means dismissive. "You don't really think they would summon an unknown daedra with a bid for _permanence_."

"This College has seen much worse than overreaching apprentices," Magister Gestor pointed out.

They stopped talking long enough for Deanne to chafe. Should she knock and announce herself? It felt like she was overhearing something that she shouldn't. She didn't want to interrupt. But she couldn't just stand here. And she still needed to talk to Mirabelle!

The Master Wizard continued before Deanne could decide. "They'll need an artifact from Oblivion for such a summoning. Do a sweep of the College for any unregistered anomalies. Get Neloran to help you. And keep this quiet. If they know we are looking into it, they will take steps to hide and that will only put off the inevitable. And I don't want to invite _other _unwelcome attention."

Magister Gestor didn't add anything. Were they finished? What sort of thing were they talking about?

What did it matter? Deanne stepped up and knocked loudly on the door before she lost her nerve, pushing the door further open after a few seconds and taking a step inside. "Magister Mirabelle? There's a new arrival in the Hall of Elements. He has a letter that told him to talk to you about enrollment."

"I'll speak to him Deanne. Thank you." Neither of the magisters gave any indication they thought she'd heard them before.

"Yes, ma'am," Deanne replied and turned back to the hall, palming Fang's fur and directing him back to the Hall of Elements. It sounded like there was something going on in the College. Something Magister Mirabelle didn't want people to know about. Well, she did do much of the management of the College. Mirabelle was sure to sort it all out, so there was nothing for Deanne to worry about. She put the conversation out of her head.

"Onmund?" The man himself was probably the one who rose from the bench on the wall at her inquiry. "Mirabelle will be right down. If you would just be patient."

"Absolutely. Thank you. Deanne." He leapt from sentence to sentence, speaking as they came to mind and as if he might not get another chance to say them. Deanne smiled and drew her hood back up, laying a hand on Fang's back again. "I'll see you around the College. Won't I?" he called after her.

Deanne turned her head to respond, "You will." If he stayed. She hoped he would. He seemed nice. And particularly eager to be here. She knew the feeling.

XXX

Deanne had made a point to complete several magicka restoration potions today while she had the chance. Taking up true magical studies meant she had spent considerably less time at the alchemy table and, while she wasn't strictly required to produce anything, Deanne still felt like she should.

She had only just sat down in her chamber when a heavy set of unfamiliar footsteps took to the floor. She only suspected it was the new arrival, Onmund, until he spoke and confirmed it. "Hello. Deanne, right? We met earlier."

The Ward sat up and turned toward the door. "Onmund, yes. Hello. Did Mirabelle find you alright?"

"Yes. I'm tested and everything. Only novice level. But hey, I'm here to learn, aren't I? And I'm staying just across the way."

"That's wonderful." It was wonderful. The 'tested' part was a little new. Deanne guessed it was a step of being an actual student here at the College rather than a Ward.

Onmund shifted nervously. "Maybe this is too…forward. I just got here after all—What are you studying?"

Deanne gathered her hands in her lap. "It's alright. If you'd rather come in and sit down, you may." He muttered an assent and walked in to sit in the chair across the table from her. She answered, "I'm studying a few things. I'm attending the Alteration, Illusion, and Restoration classes. I sit in on the Destruction classes, but I don't really practice. Enchanter Sergius taught me about Enchanting. I mostly help him now. And I spend some time with Archmage Aren every week doing Alchemy."

And she'd thought the Telekinesis spell had impressed him. "…Wow. I…" She heard him physically shake himself and Deanne almost giggled. He seemed so like her when she'd first arrived. Although more eager and ready than she, for certain. "Well…I was thinking, perhaps we could help each other. You seem to be a very skilled mage. I mean, Telekinesis is pretty high up in Alteration. And you're studying with the Archmage. And I was thinking we could help each other. Since I've just started and all, you could help me with my studies—when you have time, of course! And I thought—if you'd like—I could teach you to read. If you wanted. I know you don't _have _to read to cast spells. Maybe you didn't have the chance to learn. Or maybe you didn't want to. Which is fine! But I'm sure it could help. And you could help me cast them. After. If you wanted."

Deanne was taken aback by the offer. "Oh, Onmund…Thank you. That is so kind of you. But I don't think that would work."

She could feel his disappointment even before he spoke, the man practically deflating where he sat. "Oh…I understand. You must be very busy with all your—"

"Oh, no! That's not at all what I meant." She drew her hood back and looked in his direction, hoping that her eye contact—or lack thereof—would help explain. "I can't read because I can't see the words. At all." She waited, keeping a steady gaze in his direction. How long it would take him to realize what she meant. Would she need to put it into words for someone again?

"…Really?"

Deanne straightened. Well that wasn't the usual reaction to her blindness. "Yes. Really."

He sat there in a sort of surprise himself. "No, you're not. I mean, I saw you…Wait…" She got the sense Onmund was leaning in and really looking at her eyes. "…You are? I—I mean…I never would have guessed. You—When we first met, you seemed to know exactly where you were going. I _never _would have guessed!"

Deanne felt heat rise to her face, not sure if that was meant to be a compliment, or something else. "I go between the Halls regularly, so I count the steps. And Fang helps me the rest of the time."

"Fang?"

"My familiar. He was with me when I came back to the Hall of Elements."

"Oh," Onmund said in recollection. "Yeah, it was kind of hard to miss him. Does everyone have a familiar like that?"

Deanne considered. "I don't think so. Fang is unusual, from what I understand."

He took another minute to wrap his mind around the whole of the concept. "So, you can't see…but you still study magic. A lot of magic. How?"

"I may not be able to read the spells, but I can feel them when someone else casts them nearby. I can feel the shape of the magic and try to duplicate it. The Magisters' lectures help too. And with Alchemy and Enchanting, I'm just very careful and keep track of things."

"…_Wow_." So that was three 'wow's she'd drawn from him in the space of two meetings. It made her blush a little more intensely. Onmund, in the meantime, muttered dolefully, "And I was offering to teach you to _read_. I'm sorry. I feel like such a—"

"Onmund." Deanne sat forward quickly, reaching out to forestall his self-disparagement. She found his hand gripping the binding of a book he'd brought with him, and held him in place. "Thank you. I would certainly have accepted your kind offer if I were able. And I will still be happy to help you with your studies, as much as I can."

He brightened. "Yeah. That would be—That would be great."

Deanne took her hand back, setting back into her chair again. So she'd made another friend. Perhaps. Maybe newcomers just gravitated together: she and Brelyna, for one, with J'Zargo as the exception. And though she'd only been here since the fall, Deanne hoped she could do as she promised and help Onmund in his work. It would be nice to have someone else to talk to.

XXX

"Have your need in mind before you cast. That will give your familiar something to follow." Onmund tried again. Deanne felt his intent fall just short of the limit. Again. She sighed. She'd just assumed that magic was as easy for her as it was for everyone else. As it turned out, she was more sensitive to the nuances of spells than she'd assumed. Archmage Aren hadn't been exaggerating when he'd said as much.

Onmund sighed despairingly. "I don't think I can do this. I mean it's…" He lowered his voice, whispering so Magister Gestor didn't hear. "It's Oblivion and daedra. It's unnatural."

Deanne didn't understand the aversion. "I think Oblivion has been there as long as Mundus has. It's as natural as we are. And summoning a familiar doesn't involve Oblivion anyway. You're only reaching for the plain of pure magic. You'd have to reach further to get to Oblivion for daedra. And casting spells will be easier if you have a familiar summoned. It will make practicing easier. So please, try again."

Onmund sighed again, unable to argue against her points, and readied himself for another attempt. He cast, got close, but fell flat again. Deanne could feel it. And hear him try to stifle his frustration behind his teeth. "Here." She reached out and found his hands. "Cast it again. I'll help you." Deanne turned his hands up and cupped her own under them. Onmund tensed at the contact, but didn't say a word. "Cast again," she encouraged.

The man swallowed, suddenly nervous, and summoned his magicka. She felt it well up within him and extend toward that place between Mundus and Oblivion. This time, when Deanne sensed he was reaching his limit, she flooded her own magicka into his spell, lifting it the last bit to completion. The air opened and—even through another's spell—Fang leapt free to reach her with another creature close behind. Onmund laughed as whipped out of the opening and sailed around the room, a couple of apprentices shouting at them about disturbing their workspace. Onmund's familiar returned and came to light on his shoulder, hooting softly.

Deanne smiled proudly. "An owl. I think it suits you."

"Really?" he asked.

Fang shoved his head under Deanne's hand, a little ripple of jealousy rippling across their link. She dug her fingers into the scruff of his neck, silently assuring him he was the only one for her.

"What does it mean?" Onmund asked.

"Mean?"

"Yeah." Onmund proceeded, "Does getting a certain familiar mean something? I thought it did."

Deanne considered. "I don't…think so. Magister Gestor never said anything about it."

"I think it means your familiar could kick J'Zargo's familiar's butt." Brelyna had broken off her own work to come over.

From one of the tables, the Khajiit muttered, "Bigger is not always better, J'Zargo thinks."

Brelyna snickered while Onmund asked quietly, "What's wrong with him?"

Deanne withdrew into her mantle, blushing a little as Brelyna answered, "His is a ferret. Or maybe a weasel. After Deanne summoned hers, I think he was hoping for a saber cat or something. Personally, I'd say his familiar suits him, too." The apprentice was a little snippier when there wasn't anyone of authority around.

Deanne felt the need to lessen the blow. "Or he could be lonely. I think the apprentices he normally studies with are working without him right now."

"Oh. Should we invite him to our study group?" Onmund asked.

"No!" Brelyna hissed ardently, sweeping around to put her back to the Khajiit. "There's no way we're studying with him. He's a jerk. You know what he did to Deanne?" Brelyna launched into a—somewhat edited—version of Deanne and J'Zargo's collision over the focus points. About halfway through, Deanne felt the hairs on her neck raise and Fang's attention twitched toward the door, his fur rising with his growl. Brelyna noticed it all just before she got to Deanne's outburst, and her whole demeanor shrank. "_Oh, no._"

Onmund turned around. "What? Who is that?"

"Ancano," Brelyna whispered. Fang's growl rose at the name. "He's a Thalmor representative and he's here to 'advise' the Archmage."

"A Thalmor." His voice twisted. So he knew them, too. And there was no love lost for Onmund. "Does anyone really believe that?"

Brelyna scoffed quietly, "No."

The three of them fell into an uncomfortable silence, not wanting to attract the antagonist's attention. Not that it did much good. Deanne felt Ancano's gaze through her companions' reactions—both of them stiffening and turning away from the door—and shifted nearer to Fang.

"Why is he here?" Onmund finally asked.

"I don't know," Brelyna answered. "I know he spies on everyone and tries to get into everything. Arniel almost had a breakdown when he found Ancano poking around his work room last week."

"Yes, but why is he _here_?" he pressed

"Maybe sizing up the new apprentice," Brelyna offered.

"Could he be here to watch you?" Deanne ask the other woman. "He's said something about your family before, hasn't he?"

Brelyna leaned in. "Deanne, hasn't he threatened you a few times? The 'I'll be watching you' sort of threat?"

Fang half stood at that. Deanne wound her fingers into Fang's fur, for support and to keep him from stalking over to face the danger. The familiar turned, wrapping around her side, his growl persisting. Brelyna supplied the reason. "He's coming over—"

The light treads of Ancano's controlled stride rippled into Deanne's sensory field. She tightened her grip on Fang. "I see you have taken the new arrival under your wing. It is pleasing to see such diverse camaraderie in so isolated a location." Fang interrupted the Thalmor's faux gentility with a vicious snarl spat over exposed teeth. "And I see your beast remains as wild as ever."

Deanne found security in Fang's active defense, but didn't want to compromise her companions' standing in front of this man. Mentally, she soothed Fang's aggression. The wolf's growl faded slowly, though she sensed that his fangs remained bared. As neither Brelyna nor Onmund seemed eager to trade words in front of Ancano, she swallowed and chose to be their voice. "Is there something you need?"

He turned, disregarding their existence—the three breathed with relief at his back—in favor of J'Zargo, who was still scribbling at a table. "I am curious as to the location of your fellow apprentices."

"Why do you ask J'Zargo this? He is busy. Go bother somebody else."

Ancano was not to be denied. "Are you claiming not to know where they are?"

The Khajiit hissed. "J'Zargo has nothing to say."

The Thalmor remained where he was. "I find it ironic that a race so well known for its criminal dealings would also have so expressive a face." There was a tension in the air.

No one spoke. Onmund and Brelyna remained studiously silent. Deanne hesitated. She knew how it felt to have that mer lording over her. She hated how terrified he could make her with his presence alone. Now that his attention was elsewhere, she should have been content to remain with her friends until he left… But J'Zargo hardly deserved to be singled out either.

Deanne cleared her throat and spoke loud, "They left the class after Magister Gestor finished his lecture."

The Thalmor turned on her, though he did not move in her direction. "And where did they go?"

"I don't know. They never said."

"Hm… And what of you two?" Onmund and Brelyna stayed silent. Deanne regretted dragging them into this. She could only assume being able to see Ancano staring you down was worse than only feeling it.

Magister Gestor came to their rescue from his desk. "If you're not here to practice, then get off the floor. You're interrupting valuable study."

Ancano gave a derisive scoff, and felt the need to get in another barb. "I shouldn't be surprised that they wouldn't share their plans with the '_leavings'_. Like attracts like. And I can see the sort that remains here." Having sufficiently poisoned the air, the Thalmor strode out of the classroom.

The collective relief was broken when J'Zargo snapped at Deanne. "J'Zargo does not need your help!"

Brelyna took offence on Deanne's behalf. "You should be thankful she even tried!"

J'Zargo spat something unintelligible and Deanne touched Brelyna's arm. "It's fine. It doesn't matter. Onmund, you should practice the spell some more. Until you can do it yourself." Brelyna only resisted a little before moving around to observe Deanne and Onmund's casting without interrupting. At the back of her awareness, J'Zargo gathered his work and whisked it away to the corner.

XXX

"Focus, Deanne!" Faralda insisted, indifferent to the rest of the class as they were well on in their exercises. Deanne flinched and, again, tried to summon a flame to her palm and maintain it. The flame was insatiable, recalcitrant, single-minded in its consumption of her magicka and of the air, and in its search for fuel of any sort. The voracity frightened her and she tamped down on the flow of magicka into her palm.

There were whispers from among the other apprentices and Faralda snapped at them to focus on their work while Deanne remained frozen with the flame in hand. The Magister turned back and lowered to the softer cadence that she only seemed to use with the young Ward. "Deanne, you need to be able to do this. Trust yourself."

Deanne quavered. "I can't. What if it gets too big? I can feel it feeding off me. If it gets too big…I won't be able to control it."

"This is why we practice in a safe place with an experienced Destruction mage nearby. And yes, it is Destruction's nature to destroy. But that does not mean you cannot use it at all. And that little flame will not even reach the wall." She stepped behind Deanne and, taking her by the shoulders, better turned her toward her target. "There. There is nothing in front of you; no one you might hurt and nothing you might destroy. Now intensify your spell and _cast_. I will be right here if anything happens." And Faralda gave her shoulders a squeeze and released her.

The young woman still trembled, but opened the flow of magicka into her hands. The flame reacted, drinking in the sustenance and growing larger, hotter. Deanne held it out at arm's length, but still felt the heat licking at her face.

"Now cast it."

Deanne obeyed, throwing the fire forward. Even without seeing, she felt it die almost as soon as it left her hands. It certainly never struck the wall.

"Again."

She obeyed, repeating the attempt with much the same results.

"You need to give it enough fuel to live to strike the target. Don't just fuel the flames you have, _give it fuel_. Imbue magicka into the spell and cast the whole of it forward."

She tried. The ensuing spell managed a few feet of distance. Still well short of the wall.

"Again."

The same.

"Deanne, you're still holding back. It needs more!"

"I don't want to give it more!" She didn't trust this magic. Not even in her hands. How was she supposed to give it power and let it loose into the world? Even now, with assurance that there was no one and nothing to harm ahead of her, all Deanne could think about was the fire doing something horrible once it was out of her hands!

"Deanne, you can do this. You need to be able to do this. Cast _again_."

Deanne struggled with it again. She could feel others watching her. Judging her for her difficulty. The fire came to life in her palm, clawing at the air, desperate for more than she gave. Always _more_. "Now bind a source into the center. Do it!" She…did. The fire turned its consumption inward, devouring, swirling around the center of fuel. She hated this, feeling that she'd given power to something terrible. "More." She did, terrified of what she was doing, of what she was creating.

The heat built; the hunger intensified. "Now cast it straight ahead." Deanne threw her creation forward, at once wanting to be rid of it and being frightened of what she was setting loose. The flames writhed with apoplectic rapidity about the center, now separated from her magicka and free to do as it was made to. She heard it race forward and concuss against the wall, roaring as it burst apart, every filament of what she'd made seeking something to devour. To destroy. But there was nothing, and her spell died against the stone.

The display satisfied her teacher. "Well done. Now do it again."

Deanne drew her hands inward, clenching them so tightly that they shook.

No.

"No."

"What?"

The young woman crossed her arms, locking the means to that terrible spell against herself. "No. I'm not doing that again. That felt horrible! I don't ever want do that again!"

Faralda gentled, laying a hand on Deanne's shoulder. "I can tell this is difficult for you. But with practice, you can learn to—"

"I don't want to practice!" Deanne almost shrieked, wrenching herself out from under the tender hand. "I don't want to learn! I don't want to know how to _do_ this!"

It was painfully quiet in the room. Deanne's face paled and flushed in rapid succession; then she dropped her head, ashamed of herself. But she couldn't bring herself to touch that spell, or any like it, ever again!

"…Alright, Deanne." Faralda's voice was perfectly level and controlled. "That is your choice. No one will force you to do anything you don't wish to."

Deanne dropped her head, eyes stinging, and hurried for the door, not wanting to be here another moment. Her hip collided painfully with a table, but she kept going. Deanne almost bumped into the far wall in her haste, and fumbled around for the door for an eternity before getting it open and rushing out. Behind her there were sniggers and harshly whispered words, barbs pursuing her in her flight.

The first sizeable construct—a shelved display case—she came across became her shelter. Deanne went to its far side and slid down to the floor, curling up at its base.

What had she done? Faralda had only ever been encouraging and protective, wishing for Deanne to learn these spells to be able to protect herself. She'd taken time during the class to personally instruct Deanne in her attempts. And Deanne had both embarrassed and disappointed Faralda with that outburst. And in front of everyone! The woman wrapped her arms around her knees and pressed her face into her legs.

The door down the hall opened again. The class wasn't out yet. Deanne kept quiet, recognizing both Brelyna and Onmund's footsteps as they got closer. It didn't take long for them to find her; she was not exactly hiding.

"Deanne, are you okay?" Brelyna asked, kneeling down on the floor in front of the blind woman.

Deanne sniffed hard, struggling to pretend in front of them. "I'm fine." Her eyes had begun leaking, so she kept her head down. She didn't want to be pitied. Didn't want to make a scene—at least no more than she already had. "I don't think I'm going to come to the Destruction class anymore."

Onmund asked, "Why? That was a great fireball."

Brelyna went on, "Did something happen?"

Deanne shook her head vigorously. "No, nothing. It's not…" She folded even before she could attempt a lie. "I…I don't like how it feels. How the Destruction magic feels." Divines, it felt so stupid. "I don't want to make magic do that. I…I'm sorry. I'm just going to go back to the Hall."

"Do you want someone to come with you?" Onmund offered hastily.

"No," Deanne replied, careful to avoid bumping into Brelyna as they both stood up. "You should go back. I don't want to keep you."

They didn't seem convinced, but didn't push. "Okay, if you're sure," Brelyna said.

Deanne set off down the hall before another word was spoken. She called Fang to her side within a moment, the familiar crowding her hip anxiously as they walked. The two apprentices traded hushed words but did not pursue, and the classroom door clicked shut before Deanne was out of earshot. She kept herself contained until Fang had brought her out onto the ramparts, and even then kept her sobs choked down. He knew what she needed. There were numerous doors that led to the path atop the College walls, a path which extended around the whole of the Colleges perimeter, even around behind the main building. Here was where she could listen to the ocean far below, crashing against the stone.

What had she done? Embarrassing Faralda, brushing off her friends. And as if that weren't enough, the very reason for her outburst was so foolish! After all the time she'd spent branching out and learning new things and stretching the confines by which she lived, this sudden limit felt like such a failure. She should have tried longer. She shouldn't have given up so easily. She should have been more willing.

But that all-consuming, ravenous, destructive magic…

No, she couldn't. She…she just couldn't.

Fang sidled up to her and sat, leaning heavily against his conjurer. Deanne reached out and wrapped an arm around his neck. She couldn't do it. She couldn't bring herself to do something that was _designed_ to be so…destructive. It just felt wrong to her—_for _her. Whatever good Faralda intended, Deanne just couldn't bring herself to cast that spell again. She couldn't.

XXX

Deanne listened particularly keenly for the entrances to the Hall of Countenance. This was certainly later than she usually stayed in the magisters' hall, but her mission demanded it. A few magisters entered, taking as much time for meals as most of the apprentices—which was to say little to none. Was that the norm for all mages? Faralda entered in discussion with Magister Gestor. Deanne tried not to listen in, but paid enough attention to hear when the Magisters bid each other good night and proceeded to their separate rooms. The young woman took a deep breath and hurried down the stairs.

Magister Faralda was writing at her desk when Deanne came to her doorway. The Ward needed to steel herself before speaking. "F-Faralda."

The Magister turned in her chair. "Deanne. Good evening."

Deanne twisted a handful of her fur mantle, distinctly aware of how habitual the nervous gesture had become. "I…I wanted to apologize. About today. I didn't mean to—"

"Let me stop you there," Faralda interjected, curt and steely. Deanne's mouth clicked shut. "Come in and sit down." Deanne did so, purposefully planting her hands flat on her lap rather than wring her mantle into bits, though that didn't keep her stomach from twisting.

Faralda turned in her seat and settled in place, facing Deanne. She didn't keep her waiting long. "You are not to apologize for today." Deanne took a breath but Faralda cut her off again. "_Ah_! You are not. To apologize. Deanne, you are not the first to reject a school of magic. Conjuration most often suffers prejudice, but I suspect I know what turns you against this particular school." Deanne dropped her head and found her hands fiddling with the fur. She stopped. "I do not think less of you. This is your choice and I respect it. Destruction magic is, by its very nature, volatile and inherently unpredictable. You need never practice Destruction magic again. You need never risk a burst of fire or lightening escaping your command and causing harm."

The magister sighed, remaining firm. "However, that denial has consequences of its own. Destruction is a significant share of magical expression. One of the basest. Any angry child with the remotest hint of magic can cast flames. You will always be capable of bringing those forces to life, regardless of your restraint. And by refusing an entire school of magical study, you create an indelible rift in your understanding of magic. And," she became particularly serious, "one day, you may find yourself in a situation that demands you defend yourself with such power. And if you have not developed some control before then, your spells will be that much more dangerous. To yourself and those around you." Deanne's hands were still.

Faralda gentled and sat back in her chair. "As I said before, no one will force you to do anything you do not wish to. But you need to recognize that, no matter your decision, it will come with risk. You must choose the risk you are willing to live with."

The young Ward remained still, contemplating. This felt like such a weighted decision now: dedicate herself to handling a magic whose touch terrified her, or live knowing that the ability was within her and, in a time of danger, would burst out completely uncontrolled.

Faralda reassured her, "This choice does not need to be final. You may take up study at any time, should you change your mind. I only wish to make you aware."

"…Thank you, Faralda. I'll…think about it."

"Do that." The magister stood up. "Would you like me to take you back to the Hall of Attainment?"

"No," Deanne replied, "I can manage. Thank you. Again."

Her steps out of the Hall were slower than those she'd used to enter. Small wonder considering how much more was now on her mind. She hadn't expected to feel conflicted about this. But she most certainly was now. The rush of the focus point in the College Courtyard was a comfort, and Deanne wasn't eager to be inside of the apprentices' hall just yet. She brushed her fingers through the upward flowing currents. It was pleasant sensation, the torrent helping to carry away her inner turmoil. Could she stand to work with Destruction magic long enough to make it usable? Her hand drifted lower, skating over the surface of the liquid magicka that swirled within the enclosure. How dangerous would it be to leave the matter lie? How high a chance was there that she would actually need to use Destruction to defend herself? She had no intention of leaving the confines of the College right now. But she didn't know if she _never_ would.

Her hand had dipped lower, her sleeve dragging through the fluid as she found the limit of depth she could stand. A small part of her noticed that it was deeper than it had been the first time. The limit was almost palpable, power wrapping forcefully around her arm, filling her senses with the rush of magic. Again, it was like the lifeblood of the College, rising up from the deep, cast out around her into the whole, soaked into the stone and the air, flowing through—

_Down, down, down deep. She flowed with the magical pulse down a path she knew, a path she experienced each night in her dreams. Down, past the skeletal idol. Down, past the cell that echoing pain and fear, and the warden fallen by his own precautions. Down, past the forge of Oblivion. Down, past the silent sentinel. Down past the frozen bridge. Down, into the dark and the deep, to the door that waited. Waited with a sense of _importance_—!_

Deanne wrenched her hand back, gasping. What had just happened? She wasn't asleep. That hadn't been a dream. That had been…deliberate. And by another's doing.

There was something down there. Down below the College, in the Midden. Something that _wanted her down there_.

She stepped back from the focus point…then turned and rushed for her chamber, praying the night would bring her different dreams.

**Hm...I sense a disturbance in the force. Do you? Or do I need to take a mallet to your brain? X)**

**Thanks for reading!**


	24. Summons Unseen

"_Aaaaaaaaaahhh_!" Deanne woke screaming. Screaming out of the dark and the deep where something _awful _had happened! She had to tell someone. She had to find someone and tell them!

The woman tumbled out of bed, dragging her mantle with her. The night air chilled her sweat soaked skin as she bolting from the room without pause. Halfway to the Hall of Countenance, she stumbled, shivering uncontrollably in the cold. Her feet turned numb against the icy stone, shoes laying useless back in her chamber. She kept going regardless. She had to tell someone!

Bursting into the Hall of Countenance, Deanne screamed, "Faralda!" Deanne staggered into the magister's doorway, her voice broken and breathless. "_Far-alda_!"

"I'm here." Deanne spun around toward where Faralda had spoken from the direction of the stairs. "Deanne, what's wrong?"

Any questions as to why the magister was over there were drowned out by what had driven Deanne from her bed. The woman lurched forward, Faralda only just catching her in time to keep her upright. "They're gone! Faralda, I saw them. I felt it! _They're gone!_"

"Deanne, calm down. Who's gone? What happened?"

The blind ward only vaguely registered other people present, the intensity of her vision still dominanting in her thoughts. "I don't know! They were…!" She struggled with details. It was all so mired up with the emotions and the froth of power. "They were…pulling. I felt it. I was there! They caught something and were pulling it— But then it pulled back! They weren't strong enough. They fell through! They're gone! _They're gone!_"

Faralda seized Deanne by the shoulders, supporting her to keep her from collapsing. "Deanne. Deanne! Listen to me. You need to tell us. Where were you? Who was with you?"

Deanne tried. Squeezed her eyes shut—as though that would make a difference—and tried to concentrate, but still struggling with the words. "It was…below. I was at the door. It ends there—But then they started pulling. I couldn't help it. I felt them pulling on…I don't know. And then…" She wavered, her legs weakened and she listed forward. "I heard them scream. Faralda… Oh, Faralda, they were so _scared_." The memory of that terror finally broke her. Faralda caught her as Deanne's legs gave out, wrapping their ward in her arms and holding tightly.

Deanne's quiet sobs became the only sound in the room beyond the rush of the focus point.

"Well that settles it," Mirabelle stated from nearby. "Sergius, go and wake the Archmage. Tell him there's been an incident." There was none of the usual gruff grumbling as the elderly enchanter went for the door. "Tolfdir, I want you in the Hall of Attainment, keeping an eye on the apprentices. They stay in the Hall until I say otherwise. The rest of us are going down into the Midden. You have until I get back to gather what you need."

The magisters broke up while their Master Wizard stepped toward Faralda and her dependent and hooked her hand under the ward's arm. "Come, girl." Something passed between the women, but Deanne was too internalized to interpret it. Faralda released her hold reluctantly.

Faralda brushed her hand through Deanne's hair. "I'll come find you once this is done with." A plaintive sound fell from Deanne's lips—the safety of Faralda's embrace was a tragedy to lose in the midst of this—but _something _had happened down below. And if anyone needed to go to discover what, it would be the Destruction master.

Mirabelle tugged on Deanne's arm and Deanne let the wizard lead her away. Tolfdir was beside them quickly. A stumble on frozen toes before they reached the door drew attention to her feet, and they stopped to produce a pair of overlarge shoes for Deanne to walk in. Then the three of them made their way back to the Hall of Attainment. Onmund and Brelyna met them part way.

"Deanne! Are you okay? What happened?"

Mirabelle, brushed aside their questions. "She appears to be fine. Both of you, back to the hall."

Her tone brokered no debate and the apprentices fell in behind. The Hall of Attainment was roused by now. A number of groggy apprentices milled around the center space when the five of them entered. Mirabelle took charge. "Please return to your rooms. Until further notice, classes are canceled. All apprentices are to remain inside the Hall of Attainment. No exceptions."

That incited a wave of questions and arguments, all of which Mirabelle allowed Tolfdir to field, though even he gave no direct answers. Mirabelle guided Deanne into her chamber and placed her pointedly in a chair and left, intercepting Brelyna and Onmund on their way in.

"Please return to your rooms."

"What happened?"

The Master Wizard replied, "Perhaps you could tell me."

The request only brought confusion. "I don't know," Brelyna answered. "I woke up to Deanne screaming. But she ran outside before I even got up. Is she okay? What happened to her?"

Mirabelle was unwavering. "She is fine. Do you remember anything else?"

Onmund responded, "No. Why?"

"And you are certain she left from her room?"

"Yes. _Why_? What happened?"

No matter how many times they asked, that question was not one Mirabelle was willing to answer. "Return to your rooms. Now." Once again, her tone refused all arguments and they turned—half-heartedly—around and went back to their rooms.

Others were less resistant. "Good. J'Zargo needs his beauty sleep."

Mirabelle and Tolfdir made a full round of both floors, ushering apprentices about and avoiding lingering questions. Once the Hall was settled, Mirabelle and Tolfdir convened near the door. They spoke in hushed whispers, but not so hushed that Deanne could not hear them. "Keep them calm," Mirabelle instructed. "No one leaves. And no one speaks to Deanne until we have more information." Following Tolfdir's acceptance, Mirabelle swept out of the Hall.

No one was to speak to her? Why?

Tolfdir wandered the Hall for a few moments as the apprentices returned to their rooms—presumably to sleep. Once Tolfdir came downstairs, Deanne heard some of them start moving on the second level, whispering urgently. What about, she couldn't say. The rush of the focus point was too loud to hear at that distance. Tolfdir ambled around the first level and turned up at her door. "You may wish to go back to bed," he said. "I can't say this business will be concluded before morning. You should sleep while you can."

Deanne sank further down into her chair. "No, thank you. I don't think I could sleep." Not with what might be waiting in her dreams.

He hummed with understanding. "Would you mind if I sat up with you, then? My bones aren't what they used to be."

"Of course," she said quickly.

"Thank you." The elderly magister came in and sat across the table, the two falling into a companionable silence.

What had happened? For all she had felt in her dream, for however strongly she had woken, Deanne didn't know what had happened. Only that it had been terrible. And that those involved were gone. Divines above, she didn't even know what she meant by 'gone'! Vanished? Dead? Fled away? It was frighteningly frustrating, to know things without being able to make sense of them. She'd had that in her life already, granted. But there had never been lives involved.

Magister Tolfdir was almost dozing off across from her when the front door swept open and they both jolted to awareness. Deanne knew Ancano by his footsteps, and the Thalmor made right for her door. He entered with purpose but stopped short almost immediately. "…Tolfdir," he stated with an undercurrent of displeasure. "I must speak to the girl."

Tolfdir sat up with a grunt and heaved himself heavily out of the chair. "It will have to be another time, Ancano."

Ancano glowered down at them both. "Something has happened. This girl is involved."

"We are aware of that. However, I cannot allow you to do so now. Not without Mirabelle's authorization."

The Thalmor seethed at the denial. "Your superior is otherwise indisposed, or I would not even be here. You will let me question her. Given the state of the faculty, I believe I am entitled to a full explanation."

Deanne wrapped a handful of mantle in her fist, wishing she could summon Fang. She didn't like being so close to this man without a sure defense. Not after all their interactions and not with everything happening right now. She didn't even know if Tolfdir would defend her. But summoning Fang might imply she had something to defend. Which she didn't! She didn't _know _anything!

Tolfdir was unfazed, whiffing as though Ancano's assertion hadn't even occurred to him. "Are you? Well, I'm sure Mirabelle will see to it right away. As soon as she is able, of course."

The air was charged with Ancano's anger as Tolfdir's response left the man precisely where he'd been upon his entry. This recourse had not turned out as he'd expected. The Thalmor huffed harshly. Deanne could feel the flash of his icy glare on her before he swept back out of the Hall as quickly as he'd come. Tolfdir returned to his seat. Part of her wanted to thank him. Another part thought that would be awkward; he was just following his instructions. Regardless, he was dozing again in minutes. And Deanne found herself more comfortable than before. Tolfdir had defended her against a questioning from a Thalmor officer. It was reassuring.

Hours passed. Deanne thought she might have dozed off at one point, but she couldn't be sure. There were no more magisterial appearances before morning. The Hall woke gradually. The apprentices rose, washed, ate, as per usual. With classes canceled and the students restricted to the Hall, they gathered in the various corners to talk. A few of them approached Deanne's door, either to ask questions of Tolfdir or to try and converse with Deanne. The magister deflected both. As time moved on, though, the inquiries became more persistent. The 'why's and the 'what's. Tolfdir finally decided to organize an impromptu Alteration lesson in the main chamber to hold the apprentices' attention.

Deanne still sat obediently in her chamber while Tolfdir maintained everyone's attention outside by speaking of area affects when the front door opened. If Faralda meant for her entry to be discrete, she did not succeed. The apprentices' attention shifted to her immediately, regardless of the fact that she did not acknowledge them, coming to Deanne's chamber immediately. "Deanne, you need to come with me." The ward gathered her mantle—and shoes this time—and accepted Faralda's guidance out of the Hall with the eyes of the student body on her back.

The journey into the College building was silent. The Destruction magister offered neither information nor assurance; only a steely direction. They ascended the College along the same path that Deanne used to reach the Archmage's chamber until reaching his door. Oh no. Was she in trouble? The young woman hesitated on the threshold. A gentle squeeze from her guide and Deanne allowed herself to be brought inside, jumping only a little when the door shut behind them.

As the two women ascended the final staircase, Deanne caught the tail end of conversation.

"—is fixed in space. We've done all we can."

A brittle Thalmor bark. "'All you can'? Are these the most capable hands you can—"

Magister Neloran and Ancano. They both fell silent as Faralda and Deanne came into the open space.

"Good. Just here, if you please." The Archmage, of course.

Faralda brought Deanne forward and around a chair which she murmured that Deanne was to sit in.

"Thank you, Faralda. You may go." Mirabelle, too? Deanne was tempted to cast a 'detect life' spell just to know how many figures of authority were gathered.

Faralda responded plainly. "I'm staying." Both the Archmage and Mirabelle took a breath to speak, but the Destruction master beat them to it. "If _he _stays, then so do I."

A moment's tension. The air crackled. But there was no argument made.

Mirabelle confined her displeasure to her throat. "Very well. Deanne." The young woman sat up straighter and turned toward the Master Wizard. "You came into the Hall of Countenance last night with information."

"Yes, ma'am."

"Tell us everything you know about it."

There was implied weight to the question. Enough that Deanne wasn't sure how to respond. She'd said everything she could when she'd spoken with Faralda. "…What do you want to know?"

Mirabelle responded. "Everything you know. How you knew. Who was involved. Everything. You are a ward of this College and we require your full cooperation. This is a very serious matter."

Deanne straightened even more. "Of course. I'm not—" She pulled herself back. It felt like there was an unspoken threat in the air. Would they make her leave the College if she didn't do as they asked? But what else was she supposed to say? Deanne cleared her throat and focused. They wanted to know everything. Alright. She could do that. "…Well, last night, I dreamed—Archmage Aren, I told you about this— how I dream of walking down below the College. How I have the same dream every night."

The focus of the room shifted. The Archmage replied astutely, "Yes, I recall."

Deanne sighed, happy to have someone to corroborate. "I'm still having it. Every night. Last night was the same. I dreamed of walking down below the College until I reached a door. It usually stops there." She swallowed, remembering feeling the magic ripping through the air. "Except it didn't stop this time. I reached the door, the same as always, but the dream didn't end. I felt…a pulling. I don't know what or who was doing it. But it was strong enough that this time, I turned from the door and went toward the pull." Deanne focused, trying to recall the details. "There were people. I don't know how many. Or who they were. They were…pulling." She breathed harshly in frustration, trying to better interpret what she'd experienced. But— "I don't know what they were doing, except they were _pulling_. And then—" She'd said this all before in the Hall. "—it pulled back and pulled them through, and they were gone. I felt it happen. Then I woke up. I _knew_ it wasn't just a dream and I _knew_ something had happened, and I _knew_ I had to tell someone. Are they alright? Did you get them back?" She was nigh frantic by the end, anxious to know what had happened to those people below.

The resulting silence implied this was not what they had expected to hear. "Are you saying the entirety of your knowledge is confined to a dream." Mirabelle said it more as a statement and less as a question, but Deanne answered none the less.

"Yes, Ma'am."

The aura of the room had shifted. From the left, Ancano scoffed, "This is a waste of time."

Mirabelle ignored him. "Deanne, do you know who was involved?

"No. I know there was more than one there. But…I don't know how many. Or who."

Mirabelle pressed further. "When you entered the Hall of Countenance this morning, you proclaimed to have 'been there'."

At Deanne's back, Faralda argued incredulously, "She also claimed she had 'seen it'."

Deanne answered even with the defense. "I was there. I did see it. But…in my mind. I knew it wasn't a dream. I…" Divines above, how did she even explain this? "I just knew."

"Enough that you rushed to tell Faralda about it?"

"Yes."

Mirabelle continued, "And this dream. You say you've been dreaming the same for…how long?"

"Many weeks. Maybe…six? I think."

"And in all this time, you have told no one."

The accusation cowed her. "I told Archmage Aren. He said the Midden was dangerous and that I should ignore it. So I did."

Mirabelle persisted, seeking to corner every errant question. "So you have never been down in the Midden."

"No, ma'am."

"And you do not know who was down there? Or what they were doing?"

"No, ma'am."

"And, again, the only awareness you had of last night's events were from the dream you experienced."

"Yes, ma'am. Are they alright?"

The room's atmosphere was considerably less hostile. It carried the sort of relief that might greet a false alarm. And the disappointment of a lost lead. At last, Mirabelle sighed, a rare expression of melancholy. "No, child. I'm afraid they are not."

Faralda stepped forward and laid a hand on Deanne's shoulder. "Are we done here? It's clear to me Deanne has told us all she can."

"Agreed," Mirabelle replied.

Ancano charged forward. "What? You cannot believe that this one's foreknowledge mere chance!"

Magister Neloran said, "I wouldn't call it foreknowledge, by any means. And, mind you, she was not the only one alerted to the disturbance. Some of us are more sensitive to such things."

"_Sensitive_. She claims to have experienced the ritual," Ancano shot back.

"…Very sensitive, then."

The air actually became colder and Faralda stepped forward, placing herself partly between Deanne and Ancano. "Archmage, are we finished here?"

Archmage Aren replied, "Yes, I believe we are."

Faralda cupped Deanne's elbow and urged her to stand. "I'll take her back to the Hall, then."

"The Hall of Elements, Faralda," Mirabelle corrected. "And stay with her." Deanne suspected here was a nonverbal question expressed because the Master Wizard lowered her voice and spoke words Deanne was not meant to hear, but were picked up anyway, "They did not steal everything they used. I need to speak to a few others before we lift the restrictions. We must know where they got that artifact and how they smuggled it into the College without it being detected."

Archmage Aren replied to her, "Very well." Then, at a normal volume, "Thank you for your honesty, Deanne."

"You're welcome, sir," the ward replied, and she turned with Faralda and began the walk out of the room.

The door down the way banged open and shut, brisk claps of booted feet ascending the stairs into the chamber. Mirabelle addressed them at first appearance. "Phinis. Any progress?"

The Conjuration master slowed in his last steps, his approach solemn as he passed Deanne and Faralda by. "No. It was all very thorough. I'd be impressed if they hadn't omitted several basic groundings. It makes reversal impossible. There's nothing I can do."

"I see." Archmage Aren sighed heavily.

That was all Deanne heard before they were too far down the stairs for words to reach her. The two of them made their way down to the Hall of Elements while Deanne processed things. Reversal was impossible. Reversal of…what she'd felt. Of the people being pulled through? Reversal of them being 'gone'? Her train of thought led Deanne in a direction that weighed on her heart.

"Faralda. Are they dead?"

The Magister did not answer immediately, perhaps deciding what she should share and what she should not. That in and of itself unsettled Deanne. Ultimately Faralda admitted, "Perhaps. It's not my forte. But it's nothing you need to worry about. Come. Let us sit here until they're done upstairs."

Deanne did so, taking a bench seat on the outer wall of the Hall of Elements. Faralda wasn't inclined to sit, however, and remained standing nearby, her aura sharp and restless. Was there something else to be worried about?

Shortly thereafter, someone else came down from the direction of the Archmage's chamber. They left through the front door and returned some time later with three more sets of feet following, all of them disappearing upstairs. An hour passed. Deanne summoned Fang. Her familiar settled his head on her lap for a generous dose of attention. He enjoyed it, and she needed the companionship, too. Something terrible had happened, and it tore at Deanne to be caught up in the aftermath without knowing the source of what ailed her.

An hour later, two people reentered the hall. Mirabelle brought Enthir over and instructed him down on the bench with Deanne. To Faralda, she said, "Watch him," and went back the way she'd come.

Enthir kept on the far side of the bench, though who it was to keep away from was one's guess: Faralda, Fang or Deanne herself. Deanne was tempted to ask after what had happened upstairs. But then she remembered how every magister had dutifully avoided giving a proper answer to that. Even Faralda. Maybe they weren't supposed to know. Maybe they weren't supposed to know _yet_. It was enough to keep Deanne from questioning Enthir.

Mirabelle brought Yisra down after a while longer, seated her with them and left through the front door. Several magisters trickled in, including the Archmage. And when next the main doors opened, it was to admit a swarm of apprentices with the Master Wizard at their head. Their whispers echoed off the expansive walls, filling the room with a soft blur of noise. It was difficult to pick out individuals from such an incoherent din, but it felt like the whole College was gathering in the Hall.

Mirabelle once again approached the bench. "You may join your classmates now." Enthir and Yisra leapt off the bench and hustled into the mob.

Deanne's process was slower, and Brelyna and Onmund found her first. Brelyna's normally musical cadence was almost shrill with anxiety. "Deanne, _what is going on? _They won't _tell_ us anything!"

Onmund added, "And Pithi and Treoy and Balwen are missing."

"And Katarina!"

"Apprentices." Faralda cut a strict swath through the growing fluster, not unlike a battle mage wrangling a lightning storm under control. "Keep calm. All your questions will be answered shortly."

It was enough to anchor Brelyna, though she did grab Deanne's hand and hold on. Tight. This really had her worked up. Onmund tried to take Deanne's other side, but Fang huffed and wedged himself between them, shoving the man out of the familiar's customary spot. Deanne giggled a little, though the humor died quickly, so apprehensive was the mood in the Hall.

They didn't need to wait long. Someone stepped up in front of the assembly, the speculative whispers fell to silence as the Archmage addressed them. "Mages and Apprentices, as you are no doubt aware, there was an incident last night. Four apprentices went down into the Midden and attempted a summoning ritual beyond their skill. They were discovered this morning at the location of their attempt, each one of them suffering severely from Conjurer's burn. None survived."

The whole of the Hall was still. Deanne squeezed Brelyna's hand hard. That was…awful! And…she'd felt it happen. She'd been there, in her mind, and _felt _it happen. Divines above, she wanted to be sick.

Archmage Aren continued, "This is a tragedy. I know they had friends among you. We will feel the loss of their spirits in our lives and the loss of what they might have achieved. But this tragedy carries with it a lesson. We gather here to better ourselves. To understand magic and the world around us. We gather to learn, to reach new horizons, to expand on what we know and test the limits of our capabilities. But as we do this, we must recognize that the forces we work with are powerful beyond comprehension, that this power we are privileged to wield must be respected. And that there are limits on what we are capable of."

His words were solemn, a warning. "This College implements rules and regulations on the study of magic. These rules are meant to protect us and our work, and prevent this sort of tragedy from happening. I will reiterate that entering the Midden is strictly forbidden. All projects must be approved by a magister, who must also be kept aware of—"

His voice drifted to the back of Deanne's mind—speaking of protocol for the practice and development of high level spells and rituals, none of which applied to her since she didn't really study. Deanne held on to Brelyna's hand and Fang's fur, grounding herself in the contact without needing to be aware. She didn't even notice the Archmage had stopped talking until the gathering began breaking up.

It was hard to…She just didn't…

Deanne squeezed Brelyna's hand to draw her attention. "I'd like to go up on the ramparts. For a while. Please."

Brelyna came out of her own thoughts. "…Yeah. We can do that."

Deanne expected Brelyna to let her go to be on her way. Instead, her friend held on and they turned to the nearest doorway together. Fang kept to her hip, never further than her extended arm. Onmund stayed with them as well, moving around the familiar to walk immediately behind with the women. The four of them made their way up to the ramparts behind the College together.

It was cold out. Of course it was. The frigid wind sliced in from the sea and struck their faces without regard. Inconsiderate, but still a welcome call back to the world from what had happened inside. Deanne focused on the waves, far below—the ever present ebb and flow of the mighty sea. She bent her mind to it, wishing the sound to drown her thoughts. They stood there together, silent and contemplative, processing the sudden occurrence within their own class.

"…Deanne." Brelyna was easy to hear, even over the sound of wind and sea. "…How did you know?" Her voice was still heavy with shock. Being left in the dark most of the morning couldn't have helped.

Deanne wrapped her arms around herself, pinning her enchanted mantle in place against the cold. "I just sensed it. While I slept, I…felt what they were doing as they were doing it. And I felt them…go."

The implications of that fact weren't far behind. Brelyna released her own tumult of thoughts to come over and wrapped her arms around her friend. "Oh, Deanne. Are you okay?"

Deanne curled her arms around the offering. "I don't know." After feeling people have their souls ripped from them...she just didn't know.

Onmund shared their discomfort, leaning on the rampart nearby. This was a significant disaster for so early on in his studies at the College. A terrible reminder of the dangers of the path he'd come here to follow. "Does this sort of thing…happen often?"

The women loosened their embrace but remained together. "No. Not since I've been here, anyway," Brelyna answered.

Deanne heard him shudder. "I can't believe it. Four dead. Just like that."

Deanne replied, "The Archmage spoke true. Magic. It's a force of nature." The overexposure she'd experienced in the focus points came to mind. "We touch it—a little—when we cast spells. But it's so much bigger than that. If we do wrong, or handle it wrong…it could wipe us from the world."

"Is that what happened in the Midden?" he asked cautiously.

Deanne hesitated, the memory was still fresh. "Like the Archmage said: they tried something they shouldn't have. And it was too much for them."

"But what does that mean?" Onmund demanded, almost hysterically. Apparently this was not at all what he'd expected when he'd come here. "If any spell could snuff us out, why study? If it's so dangerous, why do we use it at all?!"

His words reminded her of Faralda and her warning about Destruction magic. And Deanne found herself echoing the Magister's wisdom. "Because it's there. Whether we use it or not. It's around us…within us. No matter what." Deanne could almost feel the power in her veins, and its potential—for good or ill. "Better we learn to use it responsibly than pretend it's not there."

The three of them fell quiet, letting the blustering winds fill their ears.

"And it wasn't out of nowhere," Deanne added. "I remember…hearing things around the College. They planned this out. It wasn't random. And when I felt it last night…They were trying to pull something that was stronger than they were. So it pulled them through instead of the other way around. They…" Oh, she hated saying these words. They felt so callous. "They _did _bring it on themselves. If they'd had one of the magisters there to oversee…or shared what they were doing—maybe…maybe things would have been different."

Brelyna was more comfortable dropping such blame where she thought it should lay. "Of course it would have. It was probably why they didn't. Maybe I can't summon dremora, but I know something about Conjuration. You don't summon things you can't control. And you don't improvise. Who knows what you could call."

Onmund shuddered again and muttered under his breath, "I hate conjuring."

They stood at the wall for a long while, until their noses were numb and their legs ached. The College would move on. Things would go back to normal, in spite of the abrupt loss of life. Tomorrow there would be classes. And, aside from four empty seats, they would be the same as those the apprentices had attended yesterday. Or the day before. It felt wrong that four people dead should leave so small an impact.

But, then again, when had those apprentices ever spoken to Deanne? How had they impacted her life up until now? Would she miss them? Would her life change for their being gone? Probably not. And that fact made her feel worse about the whole thing.

XXX

Was it too much to hope that the dreams would stop now that something had happened down in the Midden? Was it too much to hope that the unsanctioned summoning had been the reason for Deanne's dreams over the past months?

Yes…Apparently it was.

_It started differently. Another path down. A different entrance, this one from outside where the winds blustered over a hidden door. The stones spoke the key and opened before her. This time she passed the pit of bones. Then all was as before: the cell and the warden, the forge of Oblivion, the silent sentinel, the frozen bridge, now guarded. And then, the door. Why this door? Why always this door?_

_As if in answer, a voice sounded from beyond the door. "Come and seek me out. Your path is long and full of trials. Come, that I may provide what I can."_

**I realize I have a fondness for significant dream sequences. But, frankly, I could have worse tendencies. Imagine, I used to spell 'okay' as 'ok'. *gasp* The humanity!**

**Thank you for all the reviews. They bring me joy and tell me what I'm doing both wrong and right! ...Like Vilkas. X) The response to that tidbit is to come. Ro-Yolos-Briin, I shall not disappoint you.**


	25. The Midden

**Big ole thank you to Breather, my truly fantastic beta. And, of course, to all those who leave their thoughts after reading. I appreciate that you take the time. Especially since we've breached 100 reviews! Wow, you guys are fantastic! Now if you'll please excuse me, I need to go squeeee. **

Deanne lay in bed, wide awake. The faint snores around the edges of the rush of the focus point told her the Hall of Attainment slumbered. All was quiet and still. And yet her heart thudded in her chest, loud enough that someone must already know what she was considering. She hadn't even made the decision yet, and she still feared discovery.

It had been four nights since the door had spoken. It hadn't said a word since, but every night she found herself walking this new path down to reach it. So the dreams weren't related to the summoning disaster. And it still felt important. The Archmage had told her to ignore it. The Midden was forbidden. She shouldn't even be considering this. Not at all! It was dangerous. Against the rules. That should have been the end of it…

But almost two months of the same instructional dream with no deviation, the same vision experienced through the focus point, and a standing sense of _importance_…

Deanne pushed back the covers and slipped her feet into her shoes. She stood upright and hesitated. What was she doing? This was the most reckless thing she'd ever considered. Going down into the Midden? It was going to get her killed for certain.

Slow steps brought her out of her chamber and up to the rounded edge of the focus point. This was going to be it. If…if she 'saw' anything here, she'd go. If not, then she would return to bed and ignore the dreams and never concern herself with it again.

Another long pause, fearful of the result of her own mental bargain… Then she pulled up her sleeve and dipped her hand down into the molten magicka. The surge of power swam up into her arm immediately, rushing, coursing through her veins, filling her up until Deanne feared she might burst. The immensity of the College opened to her, senses melding with the magical flow out in the stones and the air, wrapping around and through the walls and the chambers and the halls, mapping her home with magic in her mind—

_Down, down, down. The pit of bones—the cell and warden—the forge of Oblivion—the silent sentinel—the frozen bridge and its guard—the door. Still patient, still waiting, still _there_—_

Deanne pulled her hand free, oddly calm. That was it then. She…she would _go_. The anxious indecision lifted and she felt clear, for better or worse. She would do it. She would follow this path she'd been given. If she'd been shown the way every night for so long, it _had _to be important.

But...maybe not alone. Fang might be enough for wandering the College, but not for the Midden. There was no telling what else was down there. It was forbidden and dangerous for a reason, wasn't it?

Deanne moved around the focus point and up to the appropriate door. Inside was quiet. Not even snoring. Deanne stood in the entrance, straining to hear something indicating Brelyna's presence. Sure enough, there was a shifting of the bedcovers where the apprentice was curled up and fast asleep. Deanne tip-toed over, her legs bumping gently into the mattress, and reached out until she felt a shoulder beneath the blanket. "Brelyna?" she whispered, shaking lightly. The woman stirred, but settled quickly. Deanne jostled her a bit harder. "_Brelyna_."

It was enough to wake her. Brelyna groaned and rolled over, pulling slightly free of the blanket. "Deanne? …What are you doing up?"

"I need to ask you something," Deanne whispered back.

The apprentice groaned again as she stretched, then went lax. "Can't it wait until morning?"

"No." Deanne's heart drummed in place, now anxious about Brelyna's answer. She took a deep breath. "I'm going down into the Midden. But I don't want to go by myself. Would you come with me?"

It took several seconds for Brelyna's sleep addled brain to fully comprehend what had been said. Then she sat up fast. "The Midden? Are you mad?!"

"Shhhh!" Deanne tried to hush the apprentice, fearing waking anyone else with this.

Brelyna lowered her voice, but she was by no means finished. "You can't be serious! After what happened? After the Archmage forbade the Midden to everyone? You can't really be thinking about going down there, can you?"

Deanne flinched but tried to explain. "It's important. Please, Brelyna, I know how it seems. But it's not about a spell or anything. It's…" Well…she might as well say. "I've been having a dream for weeks now. One where I go down into the Midden, exactly the same way. There's a door down there. And the other night, someone spoke from the other side. There's someone down there, Brelyna. And I need to meet them. It's important."

"Important? A dream? This is all about a dream? Deanne, listen to yourself. You can't really be thinking about this. It's mad. And besides, if there is someone living down there, they can't be any good. You're thinking about risking your life for that? Come on! You'll be killed wandering around down there!"

Deanne deflated. Brelyna did make some excellent points, points Deanne had been struggling with. Except her dreams weren't just dreams. The summoning disaster had proved that; her mind wasn't just making things up. There was someone down there. There was.

"…I'm sorry. Forget I said anything." Deanne rose from Brelyna's bed, still regretful. "Sorry. I shouldn't have woken you. Never mind. Fo-forget I said anything."

Deanne scurried out of the room, stopping outside to lean against the wall for support. What had she been thinking? She couldn't—shouldn't be asking anyone for help. The Magisters would deny her access to the Midden at all, let alone an investigation of the door. The Archmage had, and of course the others would. Even—or perhaps especially—Faralda. And her friends… She shouldn't have even thought about involving them. Brelyna was right: the Midden had to be dangerous. Dangerous enough that Deanne could be killed going down there. That wouldn't keep her from going. No, no. But—if she was going—hers should be the only life risked. No one else's. It was better that way.

Deanne took a deep breath, standing straight and tall, and focused on the front door. She was going to do this. By herself. With that, Deanne walked the distance and grasped the cold metal door handle and pulled it open to—

"_Deanne_!" Brelyna's hiss made her freeze in place. "What are you doing?"

The ward closed the door softly, not wanting the blustering winds outside to possibly wake the Hall. "Go back to bed. It's okay."

But no reassurance would calm the apprentice. "You can't!" Brelyna came streaking across the Hall to reach her. "You can't go down there. You'll die!"

"I don't know that. You don't know that. I might. But I might not." Deanne sighed, still firm. "Whatever is down there, it's important. I know it. It's not just a dream. I…I need to do this."

The apprentice blustered in place, struggling briefly with how to— "I'll tell. I'll go over to the Hall of Countenance and tell Mirabelle. Or Faralda. I'll do it right now!"

Deanne was taken aback by the fierceness of the declaration. That would stop her…for now. If Deanne didn't get to the entrance before one of the Magisters caught up with her. Or if they found her down there before she found the door. It was entirely likely they would stop her attempt. But regardless—

"Then I'll go tomorrow. Or the day after. Or in a week, or a month." She reached out and grasped Brelyna's shoulders before she could interrupt. "Brelyna, I know what this seems like. I do. And I've thought about it a lot. But...I need to do this. I know that I do. It _isn't _just a dream and it _is _important. Please believe me."

Brelyna didn't speak. Too shocked, perhaps, that Deanne was still so set on doing this forbidden thing. Deanne released her. "Look, I'm going. Now or later. Just go back to bed. Pretend I never woke you. If anything happens, it's not your fault. I promise."

Her friend didn't move. She made some sounds in her throat struggling to come out as words. When they finally succeeded, they didn't have nearly the bite of before. "…You're really doing this?"

"Yes."

Another long pause. Then, the fire was back. The previously frantic apprentice set like mortar. "Then you're not going alone."

"Brelyna—"

"No! You're not going alone. Just…let me change. Alright? If we're going to go, we should take some things. …And you should wear something other than your night gown."

Deanne paused, then flushed when she realized she was still in her bed clothes. By the Eight, she was glad she'd woken Brelyna now.

The two of them split up and returned to their rooms. Deanne changed into her robes, rewrapping her mantle securely before going to wait at the door again. Brelyna was there a few minutes later, riffling through a bag as she approached. "Alright: scrolls, potions, staff. Okay, I'm ready." A staff point clinked against the stone as she came to a stop, and she asked carefully, "Deanne, are you sure about this?"

Deanne didn't even hesitate. "Yes. There's a reason I've been having this vision. I know there is. Are you sure about this?"

Brelyna laughed weakly. "What kind of friend would I be if I let you go off on your own like this? Come on," and she hooked an arm around Deanne's, "Let's get this over with—before I change my mind." Deanne smiled appreciatively and opened the door for them both.

It was terribly cold outside, with the winds and the snowflakes kissing her face. Deanne couldn't have told the differences between day and night except for the fact that it was so very much colder out here. Brelyna and Deanne both shivered and drew closer together. Thankfully, Deanne knew they wouldn't be out in the elements for long. This time, it was Deanne who guided her companion. She turned them left and they walked along the inside of the College's walls, away from the front gate and the Hall of Countenance. She had taken this path every night for weeks. Often enough that she didn't even need to count her steps as she walked. The knowledge was ingrained in her by now.

Except there was an errant sound. She heard it, almost drowned out by the winds off the ocean. Almost. Deanne slowed and turned her head such that her ears might catch what was happening behind. Another sound, not the same but not nothing. She stopped. Brelyna halted beside her. "What is it?"

Deanne listened intently. Then she almost struck herself for her foolishness. A cast of 'detect life' revealed Brelyna's glowing essence beside her…and another positioned somewhere behind. Deanne turned on the spot and demanded, as firmly as her stuttered heart would allow, "Who's there?" No answer. And Brelyna, though tense, didn't say a word. "I know you're there. Show yourself!"

After another moment, the light moved, there was a shuffling of snow and the sound of a pair of boots on the stone walkway. Brelyna provided the identification. "Onmund! What are you doing out here? Why are you following us?"

He came up to them and responded, somewhat sheepishly, "I heard you inside…" His next words seemed to be to Deanne. "You know this is a bad idea, right? After what happened?"

Deanne held tightly to Brelyna. "…Are you going to tell?"

"I will if I don't come with you. If you girls are going down there, then so am I!"

Brelyna was more shocked than Deanne. "You realize this is against the College rules, right? You could get expelled. You just got here!"

That prospect was a blow, but it didn't stay him for long. "Well, it's like you said: what kind of a friend would I be if I didn't come with you. Right?"

Deanne hated the idea that her actions might hurt her friends. But, Divines, it was so wonderful that they would come to her side. Even if Brelyna was muttering next to her, "We're all going to be expelled. I just know it."

These circumstances were dire. They could be hurt or killed on this quest Deanne was setting them out on. Or expelled when they got back. "Onmund, are you sure?"

He answered more quickly this time. "Yes. Absolutely." He exulted, "I've always wanted to go on adventure!" The declaration was appreciated, even if it did sound forced.

Deanne patted Brelyna's hand. "You don't need to come, you know."

Once again, the reassurance sparked reaffirmation from her friend. "Oh, yes I do." To prove the point, Brelyna spun the two of them on the spot, pointing right back in the direction Deanne had been taking them. The hand grasping her arm was shaking just a little. "Let's get on with this—before I change my mind," and Brelyna walked them forward purposefully.

"Hey!" Onmund yelped behind them. "Let me lace up my shoes. I was in a hurry. Wait up!" He was only a moment behind them and quickly dashed up to walk at Deanne's other shoulder. And Deanne couldn't help the broad smile that their companionship brought to her.

It wasn't much further. The wind changed, indicating the broad expanse of the College building approaching up ahead. Not much further.

Brelyna questioned, "Deanne, are you sure you know where you're going?"

"Yes," Deanne reassured her.

"Just checking. Because…that's a wall."

Deanne found herself smiling, in further spite of the circumstances. Within ten steps of the wall, she brought them to a halt and detached herself from Brelyna. Deanne reached out, physically and magically, to the stone floor right at the edge of the outer wall. It should be right…there! From her dreams she knew the lock and fashioned her magicka to fit. The hidden door responded, runes coming alive at her touch. There was a grinding of stone and her companions gasped. Without needing to see it, Deanne knew there was now a gaping hole in the floor, just waiting to admit them.

She sighed in relief—further assured that her vision was true—and turned back to them. "Last chance. I…I really can go on alone. I know the way. You don't need to get in trouble for me."

Brelyna marched forward and linked their arms together. "Stop saying that. I'm coming, and that's final."

Onmund, likewise, came up and slipped his hand into hers, squeezing firmly. "Me, too. We'll do this together." Deanne beamed, almost overwhelmed. Onmund released her hand and proceeded toward the opening as if he were storming it. "I'll go first!" Deanne felt him summon candlelight and take the group's first steps down into the Midden. Brelyna and Deanne followed close behind.

It was no warmer in the passages than it had been outside, but at least they were no longer assaulted by wind and snow. The tunnels breathed in their own subtle way, tiny sounds of stone and ice that echoed alongside the trio's footsteps. Brelyna stayed latched to Deanne's side the whole way. Onmund led as long as his Candlelight held up. When he ran out of magicka, Brelyna took over, the two of them switching as one or the other were depleted. Deanne didn't need the light. Blindness aside, she could have walked this path alone and never miss-stepped.

They came upon the first marker: the pit of bones. Onmund started when he saw it, and let out a sickened groan. "Stendarr's mercy, what did they do down here?" Brelyna clapped a hand over her mouth and turned from the pit and its contents. The three of them hurried on.

The second marker: the warden and the cell of pain. Deanne detected a metallic quality of the air before Brelyna saw the skeleton splayed out on the ground before the cell just off the main passage. The apprentice whimpered sympathetically and Onmund gave an audible grimace. "Poor fool. What do you think killed him?" The question was asked warily, out of concern that it be something still in place.

Deanne recalled the echoes of what had happened here and corrected him. "Something of his own doing. He was trying to keep someone in."

She felt the Candlelight spell grow stronger and Onmund began to gag. However long ago it had been, the smell of long congealed blood and gore covering the walls remained. As did the detritus. "Let's keep going," she prompted, reaching out for his elbow and keeping Brelyna's close. "Watch your step, and don't cast a flame. There's still oil on the floor."

They continued, with equal parts haste and care. Yards past the cell, Onmund gasped loudly and then shuddered hard. He'd been holding his breath until they were out of range. "No wonder we're not allowed down here. The magisters don't want anyone to know that the College is built on bones!"

Deanne corrected him again. "The College is much older than what was done down here."

Brelyna shook her head free of the grisly scene behind them. "Y-you said you knew the way. Your dream. How much did you see?"

The change of subject was welcome, though it didn't lift the heavy atmosphere of the Midden passages. "The path from the entrance to the door. I know it by heart."

"And that includes…everything?"

"Everything along the way. Yes. If we get off the path, though…" That would be something to worry about.

Onmund asked, "So what is it we're going to be dealing with? What else is down here?" Deanne hoped he wasn't rethinking his decision to come.

"Well…we've passed the bone pit, and the cell and warden. Next is the forge of Oblivion. Then the sentinel. Then the frozen bridge. The door will be right past it."

"Forge of Oblivion… Is that it?" Brelyna asked as they came out into an open room.

Deanne could feel another change in the air, contained to this chamber and the one connected to it. There was magic here, permeating everything. The heavy, alien magic of conjuration, old and painstakingly crafted. Her companions were awestruck by what they saw as they crossed the first room, before the wide opening into the ritual chamber. Deanne could feel Onmund trying to contain himself. Given his opinion on Conjuration, she could guess why. Deanne reached out and found his hand again. "Are you okay?"

He started at the contact, but grasped her hand tightly in return. "…Not really. It's…I feel like something's going to jump out and attack us any moment."

"The division between Mundus and Oblivion is weaker here," Brelyna mused, drifting out from her close proximity to Deanne, in wonder of the discovery more than either of the other two. "…On our way back, maybe we could stop and…investigate some."

Onmund was on that immediately. "No way. Once we find…whoever we're here to find, we're going straight back up to the College. This place is all wrong. Everything that goes on down here is wrong. How many bodies have we seen already? How many were in that pit?" He tightened his grip on Deanne and drew both women in the direction of the door out. "Let's just get where we're going already. _Before _something bad happens to us, too."

As if on cue, there was movement along the wall ahead of them, a shifting of debris that froze the three on the spot, casting Brelyna's wonder to the winds.

"…Did you—"

"Shh!" Onmund hissed.

Deanne felt Destruction magic come to both of their hands—fire to Brelyna and ice to Onmund—and felt helpless between them. Her dreams had only ever given her the path and the landmarks, not anything that might be wandering about down here. Onmund's wariness was perfectly reasonable. There could be any number of creatures roaming these passages, summoned or twisted by forbidden magics and left to their own devices in the dark.

There was nothing to follow the first noise, but that only heightened the tension. The three of them crept forward, drawing nearer to the source of the sound, ready to attack whatever it was that could be lying in wait. Nearer. Nearer. Deanne positioned behind them, but kept a hand on their robes, afraid to hinder or be left vulnerable. Their feet hardly made a sound. Not a breath was taken in preparation for—

Onmund let out a yell and threw his spell forward, Brelyna immediately behind him, her cast more reaction than deliberate. Both spells smashed against wood, breaking it to bits and driving what had been hidden behind out into the open, startling everyone!

"Aaaaaaaahhh!"

"Aaauuuuhhhh!"

"Aaaaaaaahhh!"

"_Aaaaaaaahhh_!"

They were all left gasping, their frantic breaths filling the empty air. At least until Brelyna's tension turned to anger and she shrieked at the culprit. "J'Zargo, you _jerk_!"

The Khajiit, clambered free of his broken hiding place, immediately defensive. "How is J'Zargo the jerk when it was _you _that attacked _him_? How is this so?"

Brelyna stomped over and smacked him, J'Zargo hissing and shying away. "You _are _the jerk here. You scared us all half to death!" Brelyna berated him.

He dodged another swat and went about straightening his robes. "J'Zargo did not think anyone would be down here." He quieted, pensive, then inquired, "What _are _you doing down here?"

Brelyna's anger faltered and she sputtered, "Well…we're—What are _you _doing down here?"

"J'Zargo has asked first."

Brelyna flailed under the snide half accusation. Onmund took the opportunity to cut in. "We're just passing through." He tugged Deanne closer and made a show of moving toward the doorway.

J'Zargo was not so easily sated. "Are you perhaps seeking that which the dead apprentices were toying with? J'Zargo was here first!"

"What are you talking about? We're not here for anything about them, or what they were doing." He hesitated and looked to Deanne. "We're not, right? That's not what this is, right?"

"No," she told him. "It's not. We're not."

J'Zargo was only half reassured. "Oh…Well if you find it, just remember that J'Zargo was here first. And he will know if you take anything!"

Brelyna scowled at him. "Whatever. You wanna get killed like them, go right ahead. No one would miss you." She stomped back to Deanne, and pulled her and Onmund straight to the door and out of the chamber as quickly as possible.

Her persisting frustration fueled their progress through several halls and turns. When Brelyna finally slowed up and loosened her death grip on Deanne's hand, the finer points of their interaction caught up with her. "He's looking for where the others died? Stupid cat. What does he think he's going to find? The magisters must have been down here and cleared everything out already."

Deanne squeezed her hand. "Don't worry about it. Whatever he does, I don't think we could stop him."

Brelyna sighed, then asked curiously, "Do you know where it happened? I mean, I would assume they'd do it in that room. It's close to the forge, and the barrier to Oblivion is weak—"

"No, it wasn't there," Deanne told her. "I don't know exactly where… It's further down, but we won't reach it. Let's just keep going. The sentinel should be in the next chamber."

As they continued down the passageway together, the sound of rushing water began to fill the space and the already dismal temperature dropped further, and moisture gathered in the air. In the last hundred feet, portions of the right wall vanished, more sound of the waterfall echoing across their path from rough openings until they turned out into the main chamber.

As the three stepped into the open space, Onmund asked, "So what sort of sentinel is it? A statue or a—Get back! Get back!"

Something above them grunted and barked as the group rapidly backtracked into the passage. Not fast enough. Just before they cleared the entrance, Deanne heard a whistle and a sickening meaty _thunk _as Onmund gave a yell and threw himself the last few feet.

"Sweet Azura, Onmund!" Brelyna yelled, rushing to his side.

He cried out almost immediately. "Shor's bones!" The apprentice grunted in pain and groaned, "Oblivion take it! What's a draugr doing down here? Ah! Don't touch it. Damn it!"

Deanne hurried to him, kneeling down on his other side and ghosting her hands out to discover what had happened. She bumped into narrow wooden rod and Onmund cried out again. He'd been shot!

Brelyna made a move and Onmund's next cry was loud and drawn out. "Divines, stop. Stop!"

Brelyna rebuked him. "We can't just leave it there. We have to get it out. Hold still."

Deanne responded. "Wait. Let me check where it is. It might be near something vital."

The rush of adrenaline fueled her casting, alongside Onmund's pained expressions and heavy breathing. Her magic ran the breadth of his body, finding areas broken and damaged. "It missed your heart and lungs," she reported. "Just a flesh wound. I can heal it if you stay still. Can you do that?"

Onmund went taut, flattening himself in place with purpose. "Anything for you," he tried to joke. But she could hear his teeth grinding as he struggled through the pain to do as she asked.

Deanne planted her palms around the wound, framing the arrow with her hands. "Brelyna, you have to pull it out."

"Yeah," Brelyna responded, reaching out to take a grasp on the arrow. "One fell swoop. Okay? Are you ready?"

Onmund grimaced through clenched jaw, "Just do it!"

"Okay. One…" Deanne was already weaving restoration into the edges of the wound. "…two…"

_Yank_!

Deanne felt the arrow tear out of his body and Onmund yelled again. She assaulted the void immediately with her magic, knitting muscle and sinew as fully as possible, as quickly as possible. Onmund's breathing helped her to track her progress, even as she felt all become whole again beneath her hands, his breaths came with less labor. It wasn't long before she closed up the skin and the man was breathing normally again. Divines, she hardly felt depleted at all. And there wasn't a mark left to indicate he'd taken a blow. She certainly had come a long way since traveling with Vilkas.

"How do you feel?"

"Fine. Good. Aches a little. I'll be alright." He shifted and said with admiration, "You're really good at that."

Deanne blushed and dropped her head, the two women reaching out to help him to sit up.

Brelyna turned to the more immediate issue. "A draugr? Down here? I thought they just guarded old Nord tombs."

"Might have been brought down here for an experiment," Onmund hypothesized. "Or as a guard for someone's work. I wonder if he killed whoever was working on him or not."

Deanne was confused. "What's a draugr?"

Onmund answered, "They're preserved Nordic dead that guard the tombs they've been buried in. Warriors of old who defend the resting places of their masters, even in death."

"They're zombies," Brelyna stated.

Onmund took offense. "They're not zombies! They're—"

"They're dead bodies that have been reanimated to a purpose by some kind of magic. They're zombies. No offense to your heritage, but I'm Dunmer. Trust me, we know about these things. One day I'll tell you about ash spawn." Brelyna stood up and slipped over to the chamber entrance, jerking back almost immediately. "He's got his bow trained on the door. Deanne, why didn't you warn us?"

Deanne replied urgently, "I didn't think he'd be awake. He never did anything before. Maybe…maybe it's the fact that we're down here physically." She turned to Onmund, professing, "If I knew this would happen, I would have _told_ you. I swear!"

He took her hand in his and squeezed it gently. "Of course you would have. I know that." He laughed a little. "You know, of all the things I thought might happen to me at the College of Winterhold, being shot by a draugr was not one of them."

Brelyna stayed true to the problem at hand. "So what do we do? Do we go back? I don't think he's coming down from that level, but I don't think I can hit him up there. He's got the high ground."

Deanne thought furiously. "Do either of you know the Stoneflesh spell?"

"Yes," Brelyna answered.

Onmund was less enthused. "I'm still working on Oakflesh."

Deanne stood up, tugging Onmund upright with her. "I think I can cover you. Like when I helped you cast for your familiar. Hey!" Inspiration struck. "That would help. Your familiar is the only one who can reach the sentinel."

"Draugr," Brelyna corrected offhand, but dropped that to pursue Deanne's thought process. "So, Onmund casts his familiar, which distracts the draugr. Then we all cast Stoneflesh and run like mad."

"Yes," Deanne, more excited than she had any right to be. Really, she didn't do dangerous things. She lived a life of caution. So why was she suddenly so excited about the prospect of throwing herself through danger?

But apparently she wasn't the only one. Brelyna gradually caught her spirit. "…Okay….Okay. Okay, yeah. Yeah, let's do it!"

Onmund stayed reserved, reminding them, "I can't cast the spell."

Deanne squeezed his hand, still clasped in hers. "I'll help you. Just…let me mold your magic. I promise I'll protect you."

He hesitated. Then chuckled a little, squeezing back. "Aren't I supposed to be the one saying that?"

She now reminded him, "You did just get shot while we got to cover."

At this point, Brelyna was bouncing—_bouncing_—in place. Whether this was actual excitement at the concept of courting danger, like Deanne was feeling, or an effort to invigorate herself for the attempt, who could say. "Okay. Okay, let's do this."

Deanne reached out toward her. "Let's do it together. It will make it stronger."

Brelyna lunged forward and grabbed Deanne's hand. "Ready."

The three of the edged to the entrance, just out of view of the sentinel—draugr. "Onmund, your familiar." He'd begun successfully calling his familiar without help last week and did so again now, and beautifully. The owl perched on his arm, awaiting instruction. "Brelyna, the Stoneflesh." The two women cast their spells congruently, letting the spell wrap itself around their skin, changing the thin layer of flesh to the density of rock. "Onmund, cast…anything. Bring out your magicka. I'll pass the Stoneflesh to you." He did so, holding on tightly to her hand at the same time. His magicka didn't even have a chance to take form before she had a hold of it. He was so trusting. It was the only reason Deanne could do as she was doing now: melding their magics into a single spell, fed by three magicka wells into a single force that covered all of them in a protective layer of flesh made stone. "Okay, everyone ready?"

"Yeah."

"Let her fly, Onmund!" Brelyna cried.

He threw his free arm forward and Deanne heard his familiar go swooping into the room. An instant later there was a commotion on the level above them and Brelyna shouted, "Go!"

Hand in hand, they dashed out of the hall and across the chamber. Deanne tried her best to hold her memory of this place in her mind, but ended up depending on her companions for direction. There was dry barking and unintelligible speech from somewhere above them, mingled with the sounds of an irate avian. It didn't last as long as they'd hoped. Onmund's familiar gave a shriek as it was defeated. They kept running. Almost there. Another few yards. Something whistled toward them. Onmund jerked on the end of her arm just before they all dashed into the next enclave, smacking against a wall that marked the end of their mad dash. The lot of them yanked around a corner—through someone's design—breaking apart and collapsing against the walls behind cover.

The three young mages gasped together, safe from the danger, panting from exertion and the rush of adrenaline. Someone giggled. Deanne wasn't sure if it was her. Another giggle followed. Then a laugh—alright, that one was definitely her. Another three seconds and the entire passage was filled with laughter, bouncing off the walls, doubtless an insult to the sentinel behind them, regardless of the fact that it was of three people just happy to be alive!

"Sweet…Azura," Brelyna gasped, desperate for breath "That…is the single most…dangerous thing…I've ever done."

Onmund answered between his own deep-bellied laughs. "—Don't know…if I should be honored—or offended—that he kept aiming for me!"

"Point of pride?" Deanne offered.

And they descended into uncontrollable mirth that landed all three of them on the floor with their sides aching.

Thank the Divines the sentinel was confined to his perch and that there was nothing in the chamber ahead to endanger them, because they would have been in terrible trouble otherwise. As it was, the three had a chance to regain their breath and sanity following that courtship with danger, resting where they lay as time allowed.

"Think there's anything ahead to be worried about?" Onmund's hood whispered against the stone as he twisted it toward her. "Deanne?"

She leaned back against the wall and tried to get her thoughts back to rights for the sake of her friends. "…The bridge is guarded now." Her humor evaporated at the realization. "It wasn't before. But it is now. …I don't know by what." Her friends had sobered, too. Deanne rolled her head toward them, suddenly aware of what she'd gotten them in to. "You don't need to come. I…I didn't mean for you to get hurt. And I don't know what's guarding the bridge—"

"Hey." Brelyna crawled over and planted herself up against Deanne's side. "I came because I wanted to. You didn't _make _me do anything. And I'm still here. Whatever's guarding that bridge, we'll face it together."

Onmund shifted his position, and she found her other side—and hand—occupied. "We'll stay together. No matter what."

Deanne sniffed and found Brelyna's hand, grasping the two tightly and agreeing. "Together."

They stood—together—and set out down the corridor—together. There was just one more obstacle—which they would face together—before reaching the door. Then she would know what was so important about her making her way down to this place that called to her.

**Eeeeeeee! The gooey, cheesy, corny goodness. I'll say it, I squeed when I wrote that last bit. Yes. Squeed. And I feel no shame! X)**


	26. The Bridge to the Door

**This one got a little long, but I wanted to get through to the final encounter. Enjoy!**

"Shor's bones, how deep does this place go?"

They were getting into the true bowels beneath the College now. Colder, denser, like frost magic personified in the walls and the air. Following a particular door, artificial construction became irregular. Sounds bounced off of more roughhewn caverns and ice than anything manmade. Frost crackled under their feet, and the three needed to be careful how they walked or risk their feet going out from under them.

It was…older down here. The magic around them was ancient, long rooted into the space and glacial ice. Deanne found herself wondering the same as Onmund; how deep _did_ this place go?

She knew when they drew near to the bridge; her companions slowed as soon as it came into view. She didn't fight them when they stopped several yards from it, apprehension thickening the air.

"…What do you think it'll be?" Brelyna asked.

"Maybe another draugr," Onmund said.

"Or something…icy? A frost Atronach. Or a troll? Those live in caves, don't they?" Deanne shuddered, hoping she was wrong. She didn't know how to fight. Faralda's warning about avoiding Destruction magic came to her full force. Divines, she didn't expect to need to use it so soon!

None of them moved, needing time to gather their courage.

"What Destruction spells do you two know?" Onmund asked. "If we have to fight…"

"I've got a good handle on firebolts and lighting bolts," Brelyna said. "And I brought my firebolt staff. Should be good for a few shots."

Deanne curled inward. "I…don't have any. I haven't cast any destruction since…that one day in class."

"Then you should stay behind us," Onmund said, already positioning his shoulder in front of hers. "I'm really better at shock spells. I could probably manage a lightning bolt."

"You're good at wards, right Deanne?" Brelyna asked hopefully. "If it has any magical attacks, you can ward us."

"I can do that," was the reply. So she could do _something_.

They still didn't move. Not quite ready.

Deanne swallowed and steeled herself. "Alright…Is there anywhere we could hide? Be out of sight from the bridge?"

"What are you thinking?" Brelyna asked.

"I'm thinking I should summon Fang. Send him out to…scare awake whatever is there. So we can find out what it is before we walk out there."

"That's a good idea," the other woman agreed. "Um…nothing to hide behind. Let's back up."

They retreated to some semblance of a corner and Deanne summoned Fang. He was tense on arrival, her fear giving him ample understanding of the situation they faced.

"Are you sure we shouldn't keep him here? What if we used Onmund's familiar again? Or Jewel?"

"We could. But you two should conserve your magicka in case it's bad. And Fang can hold his own if he finds anything." She hoped. She'd never summoned him for combat before. She didn't know his limitations.

Fang bumped his head against her belly. She could have sworn he was reassuring her. When she could bring herself to do so, Deanne urged him down the passage toward the bridge. His footpads echoed away from her, stalking toward the bridge. Deanne reached out and gripped Brelyna's hand, praying that Fang would be alright. The fact that he was a summoned spirit made of energy hardly mattered. The sound of his progress diminished with distance, then changed as he came out of the passage into the open chamber over which the bridge was suspended. Deanne lost track of him about halfway across. Her stomach seized and she trembled for straining to listen. Silence. Then a faint hiss carried all the way down the passage to reach them. There was a gasp from her side and an echoed snarl from Fang.

"_Ice wraiths!_" Brelyna hissed.

Even Onmund withdrew further around the corner. "Divines. There must be…three? Four?"

"Five," Brelyna confirmed.

The hissing intensified, punctuated by the sound of battle as Fang fought the creatures he'd stirred up. At _her _request. Deanne tried to step out from behind her friends, but they caught her immediately. "What are you doing?" Onmund demanded.

"They're going to kill him! We have to help!"

Brelyna snagged her fingers in Deanne's robe and pulled her back around the corner. "We can't fight five ice wraiths! And he's a familiar. He'll dissipate and you can just summon him again. But you can't go out there now. You'll die!"

Deanne flinched when Fang howled in pain. She could feel his battle rage echo though their connection. He was a force to be reckoned with. His snarls tore the air. Even from here she could hear the clacking of teeth and the angry scrape of claws gouging into ice, and feel his roars in her chest. Even given how defensive he was whenever he felt Deanne needed protecting, she never dreamed he could be as ferocious as what she was hearing.

"He's killed one. Sweet Azura, Deanne, your familiar's a _beast_!"

The ward kept listening, trying to piece together what was happening. She felt him howl again and Deanne cried out when she felt their connection snap. Onmund and Brelyna clapped hands over her mouth and dragged her back out of sight. She barely cared if the wraiths heard. She'd _felt _him _die_.

"Deanne, Deanne! Quiet. They'll hear. _Shhhhh_!"

She tried, choking the whimpers in her throat, but couldn't keep the tears from coursing down her face. He hadn't just faded back into Aetherius. He'd been killed! His life snuffed out! And she'd felt it happen!

Onmund held Deanne's weight, rubbing her arms, soothing while urging silence. Brelyna kept her hand in hers, but seemed more intent on the wraiths. Time stretched out. Deanne couldn't have named the length. Finally, Brelyna whispered, "I can't see them anymore. They must have settled back down in the frost." She turned to Deanne and was taken aback by the intensity of the reaction. Kneeling down, the apprentice said quickly, "Deanne. It's okay. He's not gone. Just summon him again, just like before. It's no different than when you send him back on purpose."

"Yes it is! He died!" She'd felt it. Felt him get torn away from her!

Brelyna said fervently, "Summon him again. I promise you, he'll be there. I _promise_."

The words finally got through to her. Deanne struggled to sit up and calm enough to cast a spell. Oh, but she was afraid to. What if he wasn't there? What if, when a familiar died, they really died? Could she bear to find another familiar come to her in Fang's place?

It took far too long to manage the cast. But she did it, the 'need' in her mind more desperate than any call before. The world warped and—oh, Gods, _Fang_. He came through! Deanne wrenched herself out of Onmund's arms and threw hers around the wolf. Fang writhed against her, whimpering happily, sensing full well how agonized she'd been to have lost him like that.

"See," Brelyna insisted. "Just like I said. You're never going to lose him. Not ever, I don't think."

Deanne couldn't speak for happiness. She stayed latched around Fang's neck, the tears coming faster, burying her face in his fur while she whimpered gibberish that equated to thanks that she hadn't lost him.

Meanwhile, Brelyna pointed her attention at their problem again. She turned back and told them, "I think sending Fang in again is our best chance. He already killed one. We should just keep sending him until he's taken them all out."

Deanne sank her fingers into Fang's fur, feeling his familiar, spectral form there against her. "No."

Her answer took her companion aback, but not for long. "Deanne, that's our best option. If he—"

She snapped her head up, holding tighter to her familiar. "No! I'm not doing that again. I can't do that again!"

Again Brelyna tried to reason with her. "Deanne—"

"No!" Deanne yelled, indifferent to the wraiths lying in wait not far away. She dropped her head into Fang's fur again. "I can't do that again. I…I felt him die. It was…It was like when I felt the apprentices die, but worse." She hugged him tighter. It had been so much worse because it was Fang. Her Fang. "I can't do that again," she repeated, more plea than declaration.

"…Well then…what are we supposed to do? Even four wraiths…I don't think we can take on four ice wraiths. Those things are vicious. Do we just go back? Cast Stoneflesh and run, like before?"

Onmund pointed out, "We can't run. Not with that bridge. If we take it too fast, we'll slip for sure. And I don't even want to know how far down we'd fall."

Brelyna huffed, indignant. "So what do we do? Deanne? If we can't use Fang, how do we do this?"

Deanne thought hard, tangling her fingers more tightly into Fang's fur. Enough that he had to shift, sliding down to lay partially over her knees.

Onmund asked, "Does anyone know Calm? Or…what was it? The stronger version. Pacify?"

The other apprentice gave a negative.

Deanne answered, "Just the Calm. But I only practiced on skeevers. I don't know if it will work the same for ice wraiths."

"Well…are we willing to try?"

That was the question, wasn't it? Was the chance that she could Calm four ice wraiths long enough for them to pass reason enough to attempt it instead of sending Fang to his death multiple times? Was it worth it not to experience his destruction again and again?

Deanne loosened her hold and sat up. "…Yes. I'll try. I'm…" She might die. Deanne swallowed and squared her jaw. "I'm going to try."

A harsh exhale came from the other woman. Certainly enough to express her opinion of this idea, even without words. Onmund replied to it resolutely, "Alright, then we try. But we'll keep our spells ready in case. And if things turn bad, we let Fang draw their attention and we keep going, alright?"

The ward hesitated, but ultimately agreed. She had to. He…he was a fierce warrior of a wolf. And he'd already proven his prowess. She leaned down and hugged him again, praying that he not need to prove it again.

The three mages rose and gathered again at the edge. Onmund gave his own advice on the crossing. "It's hard to tell how icy it is. We have to take it slow. Keep your feet flat and your weight directly over them. Okay?" The women responded affirmatively.

Deanne took the lead. She'd need to affect the wraiths at first opportunity. Fang moved in front of her, ready to defend. Onmund wrapped his hands around her hips, to guide, steady and catch her if anything happened. Brelyna did much the same for him, her staff out and clicking lightly on the floor. Together they shuffled toward the bridge and the ice wraiths.

The ward kept her ears open to every sound. The Calm spell was held at the ready from the first moment. It would only reach so far, so she couldn't cast it until she knew the wraiths were close enough—at which point it would be too late if the spell didn't work. A swift shake of the head tossed that thought away, and she focused on the path ahead. The area opened up all at once: above, on either side…and down. The path immediately began to slope upward, the ice making the ground treacherous even without the wraiths.

They shuffled forward, slowly. Deanne made each step deliberate. If any of them lost their footing now, it might well cause the others to fall. And down sounded like a very, very long way. Their shuffled steps were perhaps a third or a quarter of normal ones. Even so, it was fifty or so of them before the first wraith rose, hissing, from the ground. Deanne's heart leapt to her chest, but she didn't cast. Another wraith sounded, their movements cracking and snapping like fracturing ice. But she still didn't cast. They weren't close enough. More wraiths rose until all four were in the air, twisting and advancing on the mages.

"Deanne?" Onmund asked, anxiously.

"Not yet." She knew her range and they weren't in it.

The hissing came nearer, the sound slicing into the mages' hearts.

"Deanne!" Brelyna snapped.

"Almost."

Just a little closer. Just a little closer. Fang began to growl. _Oh, please let this work._

Deanne heard the nearest of them dancing closer, eager and intent. She shivered, but held the spell ready. Any moment. Just a little closer. It shifted, a wraith making a sudden spiral in the air. Deanne realized at the last moment it was preparing to attack and threw her hands out, Calm billowing outward just as the wraith dashed toward them at an impossible speed! She felt it rush past her cheek, turning her skin numb. Onmund flinched behind her and Brelyna let out a little shriek behind him. Then they both relaxed. Onmund's hands on her hip went a little lax, Brelyna sighed, both of them caught up in the spell with the wraiths. And the spell was working on the wraiths! Their movements had slowed, turning lazy. The spell dimmed their perception of friend and foe. If Magister Neloran was right, it left them in a semi-euphoric state.

She held the spell wide, and took a step forward. But Onmund's dragged behind her. "Onmund?"

"Mmm?" He sounded blissful and barely aware.

Deanne sacrificed one hand in the spell to reach down and pinch him. Hard.

"Ouch!"

"Onmund, focus. We need to get the rest of the way across."

He shook himself hard, slapping his face twice. "Right, right."

He did something to wake Brelyna, and Deanne went back to focusing on the spell as the three of the proceeded forward. The wraiths continued to dance and drift around them, moving with the source of the spell. Which was good, because it meant she could diminish the reach and use less magicka. Bad because…what would happen when the spell ran out and they woke up? The tension behind her implied she wasn't the only one concerned about this.

They kept going, trying not to flinch every time one of the wraiths drifted too close. Then Deanne had another reason for her heart to beat fast. "Onmund, now much further?"

"Another fifty feet."

She whispered hurriedly, "Can we go faster? I'm running out of magicka."

Their collective breaths caught.

"Hold on, I've got a potion." Brelyna insisted, quickly riffling through her bag. "Here–_Ah_!" Deanne heard Brelyna's feet skid and the bottle plink on the stone as it bounced. Onmund released Deanne and spun around to keep Brelyna from falling. And after several seconds, far, far, far below, there was the clack of a staff and a shattering of glass.

"…Hurry. Just hurry. Come on!" Deanne flashed. Just to the other side. Once they were there they could run.

The three sped up, shuffling, skidding. Deanne almost fell, but Onmund caught her. The intensity of her spell began to wane, and the wraiths' movements intensified. Fang growled.

"Don't let up, Deanne."

"I'm trying!" She was giving it all she had, tapping her reserves. But it wasn't going to last much longer.

"We're not gonna make it. They're all around!" Brelyna ignited fire in her hands. "Get ready, Onmund."

He freed a hand and grabbed a handful of Deanne's robes instead, lighting crackling in his palm. The wraiths began to hiss like before, and too soon the first one shook off the weight on its mind and dove for them. "Look out!"

Onmund ducked as Brelyna threw a fireball that went sailing off to hit the wall far beyond. The last dredges of magicka flitted through Deanne's fingers and the spell vanished, the other wraiths thrashing back to life. "Keep going!" Onmund yelled. Another wraith swept around to the side. The air between them and it became dense: a ward cast by the man behind her. The next attack slammed into it, the wraith swerving off, screeching at the denial. Fang roared ahead, trying to at once draw attention away from Deanne and remain close enough to defend her.

They scrambled. Deanne could hardly keep anything straight through all the noise. "Wait, wait!" Onmund yelled, yanking where he held her. Deanne lost her footing and went down just in time to avoid a wraith as it streaked through where she'd just been, freezing air etching out its path. She tried to stand. Onmund tried to help while simultaneously holding his ward. A ward which was weakening. Brelyna still threw flames wherever she could, not hitting nearly often enough for them to gain the upper hand. They were huddled on the bridge, yards yet from the other side, with four wraiths billowing around, intent on their lives.

This was it. If she'd only listened to Brelyna! Now she'd killed them! She'd—

A yowl echoed through the cavern and a fireball went flying by that had most certainly not come from Brelyna. "J'Zargo is here! J'Zargo is mighty! J'Zargo shall know victory!" The Khajiit's voice reverberated from back the way they'd come, already some way across the bridge. Another fireball flew, distracting the wraiths with threats from a new direction. Very loud threats. "J'Zargo knows no fear. J'Zargo knows no doubt. J'Zargo shall defeat you all!"

His yelling drew off the wraiths just in time for Onmund's ward to fail. Thankfully, Deanne had enough magicka returned that she could summon one herself, casting it to deflect a wraith when she heard it wind up for an attack.

A sack fell on the ground. "Onmund, get a magicka potion out of there. Quick!" Brelyna demanded.

He did as he was called to, kneeling down beside Deanne and riffling through the contents while Deanne gained her feet, still covering the three with warding. "J'Zargo, be careful. You'll fall!" Onmund warned.

The Khajiit was already much, much closer to them. Was he running on the icy stone? "J'Zargo is nimble and fleet. Beware his power!" There was something to his declarations because, shortly thereafter, one of the wraiths shrieked and shattered in midair, leaving three yet to end the mages.

Brelyna ducked nearer to Deanne, taking advantage of her wards to snatch a potion from Onmund and chug it down hurriedly. "There's only one left," Onmund warned them.

"Keep it close," Brelyna declared, reigniting her flames.

Deanne gave the warding over to Onmund when her magicka ran out again. J'Zargo was almost to them by now, bounding across the stone with hard sole claps. "J'Zargo is great and powerful. He is here and shall never fall—_Aaah_!" He screamed and tumbled.

"_J'Zargo_!" Brelyna yelled.

Deanne's heart was in her throat. Had he gone over the side? No! There was scrambling and cursing, claws scraping against stone.

"We have to go help him! Come on!" Brelyna reached out and grabbed Deanne's robe with one hand. Onmund took Deanne's free arm once they got moving, freeing Brelyna to cast fire with both hands and the three hurried toward the sounds of J'Zargo's struggling.

Thank the Eight it wasn't far. Onmund brought Deanne to a jerked halt. "Keep casting. I'll get him." Then he dropped to the ground and lunged for J'Zargo, struggling for purchase.

With one less mage casting Destruction, the wraiths became bolder. To conserve magicka, Deanne kept her ward minute, flooding it with magicka for size only when she heard one of the wraiths draw too close or up for an attack. After much struggling and cursing, Onmund managed to drag J'Zargo up onto the pathway with them. The Khajiit was immediately on his feet, screaming at the top of his lungs at everyone and everything, "J'Zargo shall never fall _again_!" Deanne might have rolled her eyes were the situation less dire.

They stood together, the four of them, back to back: Brelyna and J'Zargo casting Destruction, Onmund and Deanne covering the group with wards. Fang snarled and clacked his teeth nearby. He was torn between defending Deanne and getting at the wraiths themselves, which were more interested in the mages than the familiar. The mages staggered themselves, trying to give each other a little time to recuperate and regain magicka between wraith attacks. One of the creatures shattered, but the four casters were so low on magicka. At least Deanne had to assume they were all low. She certainly was.

"I'm almost out," she warned.

"J'Zargo is fresh and strong!"

Onmund ignored the braggart. "Me, too," he agreed with her. "But take the potion. You're better at this than me."

He passed the potion bottle to Deanne just as Brelyna demanded, "Half. I have an idea, but I'm too low to cast it."

Without a word or argument, Deanne took a swallow of the potion, feeling the power within her rise again, and passed the bottle carefully to Brelyna. The rest of them shifted, Brelyna taking shelter between them as she…did whatever she was going to do. J'Zargo continued shouting proud third person absurdities. But oddly enough, his words help to boost Deanne's own confidence. All that shouting about strength and victory, how could she not take the words to her own heart?

And Brelyna… Well, Deanne wasn't really sure what she was doing. She was muttering and…writing in the air with magicka? Then the space nearby warped—a summoning! With a triumphant yell of her own, Brelyna brought something through with a flash of heat.

The wraiths recoiled in rage as though confronted by a hated enemy. The summoned creature gave a melodious call and flew upward, unconfined by gravity. Deanne and Onmund sagged in relief as the wraiths flew up. J'Zargo still spat words and fireballs after them—weakened though his spells had become. The summon creature pursued their assailants and battle commenced above them! The wraiths hissed and keened. The summoned sang. Deanne could feel the heat and the clash from here, each of the mages around her craning their heads to watch the confrontation.

At long last a wraith shattered. Then the last. And all was quiet.

…Oh thank the Eight. It was over.

Brelyna's shriek shattered that quiet, making them all jump. "Yes! I did it! I conjured a flame atronach! Take that, _dear cousin_! Hahahaha!"

Fang padded over heavily and leaned against Deanne, breathing deep. She scratched around his neck, sharing his exhaustion completely.

Brelyna's mental break didn't last long. She wore herself out and then started to slump to the ground. Onmund caught her, "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Let's get off the bridge first."

"Yes, please," Deanne agreed, taking a handful of Fang's fur.

The flame atronach drifted around them, singing softly in high cadences until they reached the far end, at which point they all staggered thankfully against the stone walls, immeasurably grateful for the solidity. The atronach dissipated soon after, fading back into Oblivion with a high cry.

The newest arrival sighed, pleased. "J'Zargo will now accept your gratitude."

"Gratitude?!" Brelyna briefly recovered her fire.

"J'Zargo has saved your lives."

Brelyna smoldered, but Onmund answered pointedly. "Thank you, J'Zargo, for your help."

The other woman squirmed next to Deanne, irritable. Fang had his head in Deanne's lap where she stroked him. "Why did you help us? I mean, we are grateful. But we're not exactly friends. And you risked your life."

When he spoke, J'Zargo sounded surprised. "J'Zargo does not wish harm to his fellow mages. He wishes to prove himself great. How, then, is he to do this if there is no one around to compare himself to?"

Beside her, Onmund groaned. And Brelyna seethed more loudly. "Well fine. Thank you for your help. Now you can go."

J'Zargo turned smug. "Oh no. J'Zargo is not leaving. He wishes to know what the other apprentices are doing down here."

"We don't have to tell you anything." It took a few seconds for the Dunmer to realize, "You were _following_ us!"

The Khajiit took a breath, held…then said, "J'Zargo admits nothing."

Brelyna lunged up onto her knees and shoved him over. "You're such a jerk!"

He squawked, righting himself and squirming away. "J'Zargo saved your lives!"

"And we saved yours! Or did you forget you almost fell off the edges?"

The two started shouting at one another. Onmund leaned down and whispered, "Is it just me or has Brelyna gotten more…aggressive since we came down here?"

Deanne considered. "Maybe 'expressive' is a better word?"

"Oh…yeah. She might hit me if I said the other."

Deanne giggled and continued to stroke Fang's head. He took a deep breath and released it wearily. Divines, he'd been so brave. Deanne leaned down and kissed his head. "You can go back now and rest. I'll be alright from here on." Fang chuffed, nuzzling her a little, but allowed her to dispel that which held him here. Deanne curled her legs in and sighed herself. "By the way, are you alright?" she asked Onmund over the others' argument. "Did you get hurt? I have enough magicka back now to heal anything, I think."

"Oh, I'm fine," he insisted. "Just a little frostbite here and there. But I'll be fine. Nord blood and all."

"Alright." Brelyna and J'Zargo were still fighting, filling the space with angry words. Rather than ask, Deanne gathered Restoration in her hands and cast it out in their direction. The spell startled them enough to shut up. "I'm just checking on you," Deanne insisted. There was some frostbite on Brelyna's arms, which contrasted with some light Conjuration burns on her palms. J'Zargo had some scrapes and bruises and a pulled muscle in his shoulder. She couldn't do anything about his torn nail, but healed both of them as much as she could.

J'Zargo scoffed when she was done. "J'Zargo could have done that." It would have been more convincing if he didn't sound relieved. Deanne just smiled.

"And to answer your curiosity, we came down here so I could meet someone." Before Brelyna could object, Deanne stated, "We would have all died if he hadn't done what he had when he had, and you know it." Back to J'Zargo, "We're not here to steal whatever the other apprentices were working on. That's what you thought, right?"

He made to speak, but shut his mouth and shifted in his seat. "…Maybe."

"Well you don't need to be. We won't even reach where they were working."

The Khajiit perked up. "You know where it is they were working?"

Deanne tensed. She had misgivings about revealing much more to him. After all, she didn't know why he was looking for the place. "Not exactly. But I know we won't reach it."

Brelyna gave voice to what had been left unspoken. "If you wanna go get yourself killed poking around there, go right ahead. But we're not helping you."

J'Zargo became indignant. "J'Zargo is not stupid. He knows what he is capable of and what he is not. And what is wrong with 'poking around' a workspace? There could be things to learn. Bits to recover. And if J'Zargo can find their mistakes, will he not know better than they for the future? He does not intend to follow them to the grave."

Deanne was only partly convinced. The others less so. "Whatever," Brelyna declared. "Are you two ready to go? Because I'm ready to go."

"Yeah," Onmund agreed, standing and helping Deanne up after him. To some displeasure from the group, J'Zargo stood as well and followed when they continued on their way.

The fight on the bridge had jostled Deanne's sense of position, but she quickly regained it as their combined footsteps etched out the passage in her ears. It wasn't far now. They didn't speak, still tired from battle and more wary of their surroundings than they had been earlier. And then there was the additional company to consider.

Still Brelyna brought herself to ask, "So is there anything else to worry about?"

"No. The door is all that's left. It's just off the next chamber." They walked further and it occurred to Deanne that she owed an apology. "Brelyna, I'm sorry about not taking your suggestion. About Fang. I…I should have let him go after the wraiths before we went over the bridge. I should have listened to you. I'm sorry."

A few seconds of silence meant Brelyna was rethinking an 'I told you so'. "…It's okay. I understand what he is to you. And you're more sensitive to that sort of thing. But next time, yeah?"

"Yeah. Next time." Did she really need to say out loud that she hoped there _wasn't _a next time? Did any of them?

"So. Who is it you have come to 'meet'?" J'Zargo inquired.

"…I don't know," Deanne admitted.

He halted. Then laughed. "You come all this way down, and you do not know?!"

Brelyna snapped over her shoulder at him, "Shut up. We didn't ask you to come along."

He quieted down, but remained smug. "Now J'Zargo must stay. He must know who has caused such madness to afflict you all."

"Look who's talking," Onmund retorted. "Four wraiths. A tiny bridge. And you? 'J'Zargo is mighty! J'Zargo is powerful! J'Zargo shall never fall! Aaaah!'" Even though his voice was too low, Onmund's impression made the girls laugh.

And J'Zargo grumble. "…J'Zargo does not sound like that."

"J'Zargo _does_ sound like that," Brelyna sniggered.

The last chamber opened up around them, ice reflecting sound off of ever surface. Her feet knew the way. She didn't need guidance from her companions now. Nothing between her and her goal save for a length of open space. And now that she was here… Oh Divines, her stomach was in knots. What was it? Who was it? Why had they called her down here through such trials to reach them? Was it for good reason? Or was J'Zargo right? Was she just mad in coming down here?

"Deanne? Which way is it?"

The ward pointed off to the right. It was a stairway up. A dozen steps. From here, she guessed the door was mostly hidden from view. They walked towards it together, across the chamber, up those last steps, into a final few feet of stony passage and…here they were. Deanne reached out and touched the paneling—frigid wood, weathered by years in the icy air, but sheltered from harsher elements—,laying hand on that which had called her to it.

She had made it. _They _had made it.

Behind her, J'Zargo muttered, "So…"

Deanne swallowed. Right. She was here…now what? It didn't seem right to just open it and barge in on…whoever was there. So she balled up her fist and knocked firmly. There was a response. It was something like sound and something like magic, but not exactly either one. A between, of sorts, that she could hear and feel but not explain.

'_Enter_.'

Her friends stiffened. "Did you feel that?" Brelyna hissed.

J'Zargo, previously only curious, suddenly became eager. "Well? Let's go in!"

Onmund reached over her shoulder to push on the paneling. But nothing happened. He leaned closer, grunting a little with effort. Then adjusted his grip and tried to pull instead. But the door wouldn't budge.

"Deanne, why don't you try? You're the one it… 'called' down here," Brelyna pointed out.

It made sense. She reached out and did as Onmund had. She felt something on the other side. And it recognized her. Whatever had been holding the door shut gave way and it swung slowly open. Her friends gasped. There was something—someone in the air. In the _air_! They hung like mist; their mass orbiting itself, swirling in waves and spirals. They were energy. Here and not, existing 'between' in a way she could feel and recognize but not explain. No wonder they sounded they way they did.

Deanne took a step forward and Onmund's hand latched onto her arm, holding her back. "I don't like this."

"Oh, don't be a baby," J'Zargo berated him. "Four ice wraiths were no match. We can stand against what comes. Let's go!"

She reached back and patted his arm. "It's alright. He's the one that called me."

Brelyna started. "_He_?"

Deanne stepped forward, drawing Onmund and Brelyna and J'Zargo after her, into the chamber and before the one she'd come seeking.

'_Welcome to the Midden.' _The words echoed in her mind and ears.

"You called me."

'_And so you came, answering a question you did not ask. It shall serve you in the future. Or doom you. Your choice may come too late to matter.'_

Deanne's mind bent, trying to wrap around what he was saying. "I…I don't understand. Who are you?"

'_I am that which you have come seeking. You have not yet set foot upon your path. But it shall find you. And soon. You will not be ready. You have been diminished. To a purpose, but the cost is greater than expected.'_

"Diminished? What do you mean? Ready for what?" Deanne asked.

Onmund's hand around her arm tightened. "I don't like this! What are you talking about? What do you know?"

"Talk sense!" Brelyna demanded. "We came all this way, though draugr and monsters and almost certain death! Not to mention breaking who knows how many College rules! The least you could do is not talk in riddles. Why did you call Deanne down here? Why would you put her through all that? What do you want?"

The entity didn't even register her friends. _'You will carry the fate of many. I would give you the means to bear it. Perhaps even to the end of your path.'_

Even if all the doom and destiny talk was unsettling—to say the least— he was leading up to something. The reason she was here. "What? How?"

'_By returning what was taken.'_

Her breath caught and the world around her stilled. "…My sight…You can give back my sight?" Could he? Was what why she was here? Was that what was so important?

The entity answered gently, _'You shall never see again. But I can bestow another sight. I can open your mind's eye. It may be enough to let you see the way when you come to it. Perhaps. But it is what I can do. Time will tell if it is enough.'_

Deanne's chest tightened and she clamped down on her tears. Divines, that treacherous _hope_. Why wouldn't it just go away?!

No! No, she wouldn't cry here. Not now. The rest of his words prodded her aware. It was all terribly foreboding. What sort of destiny was he alluding to? And why on Mundus would he speak of such things to her? But he was offering something. Perhaps not sight. But the opening of her 'mind's eye'…

"…What would you do?"

'_Open your mind, that you may 'see'.'_

No sight. But something else. Deanne straightened up, only now realizing Onmund and Brelyna had drawn near to comfort her in her moment of weakness. "Alright."

"Deanne," Brelyna started.

"Deanne, we don't know who—or what this thing is. We can't trust it," Onmund agreed.

J'Zargo scoffed. "If the blind one will not, then J'Zargo shall take this gift. He is not afraid."

'_This is for you alone,'_ the entity said, answering the declaration without directly recognizing the other mage. _'Do you wish to receive it?'_

Deanne straightened up, pushing off her despair and uncertainty. "Yes." Divines, what was she thinking? "Yes, I will accept what you're offering." After everything they'd gone through to get down here—it had to be worth something!

Onmund tugged on her arm and stepped up, trying to sidle around between her and the entity. "You don't have to do this. We don't know—"

"Maybe not…But I feel that it's important. This—everything he said…Maybe it's not what I hoped. But it's important." She turned her head up toward the entity and repeated, "I'll accept what you're offering."

Her declaration was met with approval. _'Then step forward.'_

She did so, around Onmund and up to the swirling energy that was this being. The entity shifted and Deanne found herself in the midst of his swarming embodiment. _'Open your mind and be at ease. Resist, and you shall shatter. Are you prepared?'_

Deanne breathed, apprehensive but… "I'm ready."

The energy intensified, grew dense, fell on her skin like a heavy dew. And then flowed inward. It felt like reaching into a focus point. She was filled with an energy not her own, empowered but stretched beyond the norm. The woman breathed and focused on relaxing as it filled her. Her body buzzed with power, straining to contain it all. But unlike the focus point, where she could pull her hand away, there was no such relief here. When the rush of energy became painful…it just kept coming. Kept flowing into her, even though there was no more room to hold it. Her instinct was to tense up, try to hold herself together—

'_Do not resist. You shall shatter.'_

She felt the truth. There was too much in her, pushing at the limits of her body. If she tried to hold herself solid, she would be destroyed. Shattered. Deanne breathed and, against all her instincts to resist, relaxed under the assault. Her edges belled and stretched, and the pain intensified. Divines, it hurt! Somewhere far away, there were tears breaking over her cheeks and a sob tore itself from her throat.

"Deanne!" Onmund? His voice sounded as if spoken through a wall.

Still the energy flowed into her. She couldn't take much more. Her edges were pulling. Any moment now, something was bound to break. _She _was bound to break. Surely she couldn't take much more. But she did. It just kept coming and she just kept stretching. Oh, but it _hurt_! How much longer? How much more of this?! Her friends' voices were dim and then—

The flood into her system reversed and began draining away. The edges of her being sagged, falling lax without the alien volume, leaving only emptiness behind.

No…no, not emptiness. She gasped in shock. Oh, Divines! With the roaring, blazing, overwhelming energy of the entity fading…

"Deanne?"

Deanne wrenched her head around and latched onto the source of the word. Brelyna. Magic swirled around her. And Deanne could _see _it. Glossy, billowing hues of purple, graceful and gentle and old in a way not measured by years. Next to her…Onmund? His magic was younger. The spirals were clumsy, forms preliminary but strong, glowing green as new leaves. The last—J'Zargo's—were bright, fiery orange, jagged, excited, eager and reaching, ready to leap into solidity at a moment's notice no matter the direction.

"…Divines…"

"Deanne?"

Her eyes filled and overflowed. "…I can '_see' _you." Then she looked past them at the walls. She could 'see' those, too. The ancient magic she had felt in the air and stone were now revealed in her mind. Veins of it pulsing around them, traveling up and down. It was all around them and she could 'see' it! Flowing up through hundreds of feet of rock and stone, billowing out high above them in discernible plumes around the College like a flower. Flowing down, deep into the roots of the world, so deep that, even with her newfound sense, she could not see where they ended. But she could _see _it. The magic, painting shapes and colors and the very nature of the world around her.

"I can see it all!"

She looked down at her hands. The energy was there, opalescent, sensitive and inquisitive, but concise, with movement so minute her aura looked blurred, the dense netting holding dramatic potential for expansion. It was like seeing herself for the first time. Her true self. Deanne never imagined she possessed…such magical capacity.

The light of Brelyna's magic came nearer and Deanne was almost shocked to feel the physical contact of her hand with an aura in her 'sight'. "Deanne, are you alright?"

Deanne was still staring at where they touched, the magic from beneath their skin billowing around each other. She reached out, running her fingers through Brelyna's aura. Her own netted essence extending, brushing against her friend's. The sensation was somewhat, but not altogether, physical. And the interaction was mesmerizing. Could Brelyna feel it too? "Yes. Yes, I'm…I'm fine." Another few tears fell down over her cheeks. "I'm better than fine."

The physical touch of Brelyna's hand on her arm felt more foreign than the intersection of their auras. "Okay. Because you're starting to worry me."

"All of us," Onmund remarked, coming forward with more wariness. "You're sure you're alright? What did it do to you? You were in pain."

"I'm okay, Onmund." She reached out to him, feeling the new leaves of his magic that were beginning to grow. His development had only just begun. How might his magic appear in a year? She couldn't even guess what he might become. "But it's…very bright." Like the Dreamstride. There was now so much in her 'sight'. It was almost unbearable compared to her previous blindness. And she couldn't shut this out either.

The entity replied, _'Remain. I shall teach you to close and open your mind's eye at will, that you may not be overwhelmed.'_

She turned back up to him. "Thank you."

From nearer the door, "What about the rest of us? What about J'Zargo? Do we not get something for coming down here?"

"Oh, would you shut up!" Brelyna snapped at him. "Not everything is about you."

The entity did not even register them. _'Let us begin. Perhaps this will be enough. Perhaps.'_

**Yay! We finally made it through to the end. And got a goodie. Well, one of them did. Yay, for goodies!**


	27. The Morning After

**Ah, the morning after. Always love these.**

It was so terribly difficult to wake up the next morning. Divines, Deanne couldn't even fathom what time it was when she woke. But it felt like she'd only gotten to sleep a few moments ago. Still, she forced herself to rise. She didn't want anyone to guess she'd been up all night. There might well be questions, questions she didn't even know if she could lie for. Deanne dutifully washed and dressed, then went to the dining room for breakfast. All by touch and memory. She…she wasn't sure if she wanted to open her 'eye' yet.

There were others in the dining room when she entered, Onmund for one. "Good morning, Deanne." A large yawn punctuated his greeting, and set off reactionary yawns from both her and the Khajiit in the corner.

"Yes, good morning," J'Zargo stated, jamming a utensil into his bowl.

Deanne was shocked. He hadn't suffered to greet her in…well, ever. "Good morning," she replied to them both, going to the cupboard for some fruit before sitting down next to Onmund to eat. "Have you seen Brelyna yet?" she asked.

"Still sleeping," was the reply. "…So. Have you…you know, 'used' it yet?"

Deanne shifted. "Not yet. I'm…I'm a little afraid to. What if it's… What if it's not the same? I mean, last night…I could almost believe it was a dream."

"Yeah. Me, too. Though, my robes tell a different story."

"Oh! Do…do you think anyone will notice?"

"No. Or I can make something up, if they do. Tripped or…something." Divines, he sounded as exhausted as she felt. He yawned again. "I'm skipping Illusion this morning. Get in a couple more hours of sleep before my afternoon class."

They ate in silence. With any luck, no one would notice anything and last night would go forgotten. Except for Deanne's 'sight'. How would she explain that? Although, the other things that the entity had said troubled her as well. What sort of path was coming that she wasn't ready for?

The door to the outside opened and closed downstairs. They continued to eat as someone walked around and then climbed the stairs. Onmund sat up straight when whoever it was came into sight, and Deanne adopted his surprise when it was Archmage Aren who spoke. "Deanne. There you are! Forgot about our alchemy session, did you?"

Deanne flushed, and stammered, "Oh, I'm—I'm so sorry. I did. I—Forgive me! I was—well, we were—up late last night. Didn't get much sleep. I didn't remember that—I'm so sorry!"

"I was simply surprised when you were not present to call me to order this morning. And you were—Oh! Well…" The Archmage became somewhat flustered himself. "Well, that's certainly…No need to apologize. It's perfectly understandable. Late nights are…not unheard of. Given how isolated we are here at the College and how closely we all work together. Such things have been known to happen." He cleared his throat pointedly. "Perhaps an assembly to address the nature of… certain interactions with colleagues. But you are consenting adults. And so long as you are being responsible, I see nothing wrong with such developments. All perfectly natural."

Beside her, Onmund choked on his breakfast. He came out of it hacking and coughing. "No, no! Archmage it's—It's nothing like that! We didn't—I mean, we were up together—But…talking! Not—It was nothing like that! Brelyna was with us. And J'Zargo, too."

From the corner, "Do not bring J'Zargo into this!"

Onmund barreled on. "We were just up talking. That's it. About…the Midden." The admission traumatized him anew. "Not about…I mean—"

Deanne reached out and quickly cast a mild Calm spell, the man going slightly slack in his chair. But he stopped talking.

"Ah, I see," the Archmage said, somewhat relieved at the explanation. Odd.

Deanne wondered—then blushed when she realized, "Oh! You…you thought Onmund and I were…"

"Canoodling?" J'Zargo supplied, the smirk apparent in his voice.

Deanne felt Onmund whip around to shoot a glare at him. She chose to address Archmage Aren, however. "No, Archmage, it was nothing like that. We were up talking about what happened in the Midden and lost track of time. That's all. I'm sorry about missing our lesson. Do you still have time?"

The Archmage perked up. "But of course. I leave today open for precisely that. We'll just get a later start."

Deanne rose, touching Onmund's shoulder as she passed. "Until later, Onmund?"

"Yeah, yeah. Of course. Later."

The Archmage took up her guidance as she exited the room. Behind her, J'Zargo sniggered. "Smooth."

"Shut up!"

Deanne probably didn't need the Archmage's help to find the way. Especially now. That is, if she chose to open her 'eye'. But such an act still felt like…like it would make last night real. The reckless decision she'd made, the danger she'd pulled her friends into, and everything else that the entity had said about her 'path'. Although, on that note, Deanne could kick herself. Hadn't she already learned that denying something's existence didn't make it disappear?

Archmage Aren interrupted her thoughts. "I trust you are not considering going down into the Midden."

"Oh, no, sir." At least not anymore.

"Good. I realize here has been a great deal of activity regarding it lately. But the dangers should be self-evident."

"Yes, sir." She prayed to the Eight that no one would go down there who would notice that the bridge guards were no longer present.

They walked further, entering the Hall of Elements and beginning their ascent to the Archmage's chambers. "It occurs to me that I should…_ahem_…ask about your…state of mind."

Deanne stiffened. "My what?"

He grew awkward again, like when they had first met. "Well you—subconsciously—experienced a traumatic event. Normally one would…need some emotional support after such a thing. Do you…have someone to talk to?" Again, it felt like he was grasping for what one should say in this sort of circumstance.

Deanne relaxed. For a moment there, she'd thought he could somehow sense that she had been changed. "No—that is…" She hadn't really thought about it. "I suppose I should…But I'm not sure who I would go to." Maybe Faralda? Onmund and Brelyna were her friends, but they weren't precisely worldly about such things. Yes—"I think I'll talk to Faralda. Later."

"Splendid." Though, by his pause afterward, he realized almost immediately that was perhaps not the right word to use. "And your dreams of the Midden? Have they persisted?" This was more solid ground for him. His tone said as much. More intellectually than emotionally based.

"Yes. But I think last night was the last of it." Could she ask him? Perhaps, if she didn't directly admit what she'd done— "I walked through the door last night. I…I met the one other side. I get the sense…he _was_ a person, at some time. But not anymore. He was energy, existing between here and somewhere else. Do you know of such a person?"

"Yes. I believe you are describing the Augur of Dunlain."

Deanne cocked her head. "The what?"

"The Augur of Dunlain. He was a student here. Brilliant. A truly accomplished wizard. Delved into magic in a way none had ever seen before. But, you see, he became too focused on just how much power he could acquire. That's what led to the accident."

"Accident?"

"Yes…Well, you say you saw him in your dream. He attempted something beyond his skill, and that was the result. I'm sure you can see a running theme in the cause of accidents here at the College."

Deanne replied sadly, "Yes."

Archmage Aren patted her hand. "Something to keep aware of in your studies. So, you met the Augur. Did he say anything to you? Reveal the reason for your dreams, perhaps?"

She hesitated. Would he accept that it was just part of the dream? "He did…say some things… About a path finding me and that I wouldn't be ready. And then he…" Could she tell him this? She still had questions about it, and another trip down to the Augur was not on her agenda. "He did something to open my mind and I could…'see' magic around me: the College's, my own."

This interested her superior. "Really? Have you attempted to repeat it?"

"Not since I woke up. I could…I could try."

They had reached the foyer of his chambers, where he halted them and released her arm to give her space. "Please do. Given the repetition of this dream, I should wonder if it bore results."

Deanne hesitated again. But…well, she wanted to know herself if it had truly happened. The ward reached inward and found her mind's eye—and slowly drew it open. Yes. _Yes_, it had most certainly happened. The College lit up around her, streams and veins of magic flowing through the air and the walls, shifting slightly in form from one substance to the next, outlining the world around her. "Yes. I can 'see' the magic. In my mind. All around us. Yours, too."

"Oh?" He took a half step toward her, eager curiosity leaking into his voice. "I am sensing a form of conductivity. Tell me, how do I appear to you?"

She turned her 'eye' on him. She needed a moment to find the right words. "It's…artfully structured." Old in the same way Brelyna's was. But his was…it looked like architecture, smooth, solid, flowing lines, each aspect built like an addition on a grand structure by a craftsmen who created to a purpose.

The answer pleased him well enough. "You flatter me. Am I to understand you can sense magic in a visual sense?"

"I…I think so. I can 'see' it in the air and the walls. Yours. Mine. Well, not see with my eyes. But…"

"Fascinating. And what of enchanted items? Scrolls? Staves? Oh, I suppose you haven't had the opportunity yet." He considered. "My dear, if you would be willing, I should like to adjust our lesson today and explore your new ability further."

Oh, thank the Eight she didn't have to ask. "Yes. I think that would be a fine thing."

"Splendid." He stepped up and took her arm again. "Let us find an empty work room and set about it. Hm… Perhaps we should tell Mirabelle where to find us...I'm sure it will be fine. She has the uncanny ability of tracking me no matter where I go. Perhaps a variation on your own abilities. For that matter, can you identify other individuals by their magic? At what distance? Can you 'see' anyone below us? What about spells in action? I know a number of experiments in progress. Let us see if you identify any of their signatures. And work out your range and sensitivity, of course."

This was going to be another very long day. But, like all the others spent with the Archmage, thoroughly educational and gratifying.

XXX

She could see magic. Every form the Archmage had presented to her bore a signature she could identify: enchanted items, spells, rituals in affect, people. It wasn't quite the same as 'detecting life,' but similar. Some forms she recognized. Others were entirely new to her, and the Archmage was there to explain them to her. But she could 'see them all'. Even scrolls. _That _sparked Deanne's excitement.

She could 'see' them: self-contained spells inscribed on the vellum; written magic crafted to a particular affect. It was fascinating, 'seeing' multiple dimensions of spells 'written' out in front of her. She could 'see' the power bound up in the material, the inscriptions and symbols that denoted exactly how the spell would progress when triggered. Looking at a scroll before her, she could identify the stages that would unfold, to what extent and to such a degree that…she could learn the spells from them. The same way others learned them from books. _Read _them! Her world had gone dark only just as Deanne had begun to learn to read at all. Now the spells were written before her, and in a form she could recognize and decipher. It was a simple matter of duplicating with her own magic what she saw written into a scroll before her 'eye'.

It was similar with staves and the various rituals that the Archmage exposed her to. She saw the spells coiled up and bound within the staff, powerful but easily triggered by anyone with even the most remote of talents. She read the rituals in progress, saw how the magic was flowing and the means by which it was changed either in form or purpose. She saw a multitude of dimensions laid out before her, surprising the Archmage when she asked after earlier aspects of some experiments that she couldn't possibly have known about, but were echoed in the magic of the space.

The hallways and passages of the College were no longer hidden from her. She could feel them around her: the contact between stone and air distinct as the magic of the College passed from one into the other. She could walk the halls of her own power, without clinging to someone or fumbling her way through by hand—although she often kept Fang beside her, out of habit.

And then there was Fang himself. He was… Well, he wasn't like she'd expected. She expected him to be made up of the same magic as the plane from which all familiars were called, that place between realms where mages drew magic from which appeared to her as a pale blue effortless wrapping. Instead, he was made up of something else. Of a wild, crimson magic that was wholly its own: harsh, agitated, vibrant red and thorny. The Aetherial magic was there, but it was slight: pale blue chiffon, wrapping around them both in a manner positively lazy by comparison to Fang. Perhaps that shouldn't have been surprising, given the wild realm where they had first encountered one another. Still, she expected…well, not this.

The other familiars were made entirely of the pale blue, Aetherial magic. Maybe he was a familiar from a different plane than her friends'. Something to ask Magister Gestor about. But Fang was very much his own creature, the two of them connected less by the spell and more by both his will and her own. No, given what she could 'see' of him, Fang's ferocity should never have surprised her. He was a true creature of the wild; the fact etched into his very being. Instead, it was his affection toward her that should have been the surprise. Made of such wildness, why did he act so docile with her?

Those were questions for another day. Familiar footsteps approached from the stairway and Deanne got to her feet so that she could be standing to greet Faralda, before the magister reached her classroom.

"Good morning, Deanne. Did you need something?"

"Yes…I…A couple things. If you had the time."

Faralda shifted the stack of papers in her arm. "Is it pressing? I have some preparation to do before my glass begins, but if this is important I can—"

"No, no! It's not—" Deanne ran a hand over her face, trying to settle herself. She took a cleansing breath and began, "The Archmage said I should talk to someone about…what I saw in the Midden. I was hoping…I could talk to you. At some point."

The magister softened. "Of course, Deanne. You need only ask. I'm sure you know I have class just now. But afterward, we can sit down for a while if you'd like. When you're ready."

Deanne exhaled. That shouldn't have relieved her so much. "Thank you. And, actually, that was another thing…" She took another deep breath and dipped her head, a bit ashamed. "You were right. About being practiced with Destruction. I should have listened to you. I'm sorry. And I…I'd like to learn."

There was a moment of silence in the Hall, during which those words set in. "Oh, Deanne." Faralda was taken aback by the fragility and stepped forward to wrap one arm around the younger woman's shoulders. "I told you before it was not something for you to apologize for." Deanne lifted her arms and returned the gesture. It helped a great deal. To lean on someone. The magister held her for a time, then stepped back and cajoled, "Come inside. We'll have you caught up before you know it."

Deanne sniffed firmly and followed the Magister into the classroom, with Fang padding along beside her.

XXX

"Deanne! Onmund! Look! Look, what I found!" The two mages hissed at Brelyna for silence—a demand echoed from the neighboring stacks and Urag gro-Shug's desk at the Arcanaeum's center. The mer flinched and lowered her voice. "Sorry."

The Arcanaeum was no longer a lost resource. While Onmund and Brelyna utilized the various research materials, Deanne could now join them, translating spells from scrolls that Urag gro-Shug was willing to permit her access to. She didn't feel like such an outsider in this area anymore, the texts no longer completely denied to her.

Brelyna threw down a volume on the table with a '_thunk'_ and yanked it open so fiercely that Deanne feared she might damage the binding. "Look, look at this! Oh! …Sorry…"

Deanne set aside the scroll of 'detect dead' she'd been investigating—and Brelyna's mistaken word choice—and turned to Brelyna's discovery. "What is it?"

"It's a spell tome," Onmund answered her. He stood a little from their shared table, leaning over to get a better look. "…Waterwalking?"

"Yes!" More hisses assaulted Brelyna's excitement. Deanne felt the Mer flinch, but bounce back just as quickly. "An actual spell tome for Waterwalking! I haven't seen one in ages."

"So?" Onmund questioned, unimpressed.

Brelyna groaned. "Waterwalking is a lost spell! That's 'so'!"

"What are you talking about? It's right here."

"Not that kind of lost," Brelyna said, then set down to explain. "Waterwalking was an Alteration spell up until the Fourth Era. Then the Oblivion Crisis happened and it stopped working. You can't even find the spell tomes anymore."

Deanne struggled to wrangle her friend's words. "Wait…'stopped working'? How?"

"I don't know. That's just it. No one knows! Something happened during the Oblivion Crisis. At least, that's the theory: that when Martin Septim and the Champion shut off Mundus from Oblivion, our connection to Aetherius was altered. Or what separates us from it. Or something! Not enough that it messed up a lot of spells, or how we work with magic overall. But enough that certain spells got affected. Like Waterwalking! No one has been able to cast a proper Waterwalking spell since then, and no one can figure out why!"

Onmund stayed leaning over the tome, flipping a few pages. Then he turned back to her. "Okay…so why are you showing us this?"

Deanne could just feel the apprentice's excitement rolling off her. Brelyna said, "I'm thinking we should try and figure it out. Like a thesis project! They're always encouraging us to explore new avenues of study. Why not this?"

That sounded feasible…in theory. Deanne felt the need to point out, "If two hundred years of mages couldn't find the problem, what makes you think we could?"

Brelyna lowered her voice. "Because two hundred years of mages didn't have a secret, magic 'sight'. Come on, Deanne! We could do this! It would be a huge discovery! We might uncover some massive fundamental truth about the basis of magical theory."

Onmund dropped down onto the bench. "Depends on how you define 'huge' and 'massive'."

"You've got no ambition."

"Hey, at this point I'm just trying to get a decent grasp on the base spells. Forgive me if I don't jump on some early-era magic mystery," he said.

Brelyna huffed at him and turned on their resident ward. "So? What do you think?"

Deanne felt abashed by the intensity of the focus. "Well…I guess we could investigate…a little."

Brelyna shrieked with glee, earning another bark from the Arcanaeum's keeper. Onmund groaned and shut his book firmly. "Alright, fine. As long as we don't…I don't know, turn ourselves into toads, I'm in."

Brelyna snorted. "No. The worse thing that could happen is that we get wet." She came around and plunked down on Deanne's other side, flipping the book back to its start, the three apprentices hunkering together over the pages.

XXX

Onmund and Deanne had to run to keep up with Brelyna. He'd been right; Brelyna was definitely more 'expressive' now than she'd been before the Midden. "Come on, you two! We need a workspace. This is gonna be great!"

Onmund huffed, hanging on to the few texts they'd found detailing theories on the long term effects of the Oblivion Crisis and the development of Alteration. "The rooms aren't going anywhere."

"But they might all get full up. We have to hurry!"

Deanne sincerely doubted that, given there were fewer apprentices to divide the rooms between and there were plenty of workrooms besides. But there would be no telling Brelyna that. The womer threw open a door and pitched herself into it well ahead of them. The other two came up just in time to hear the room's current occupant snap at her, "What do you want? J'Zargo is busy."

Brelyna soured and snapped right back, "Well, excuse us, then. No need to be rude. We'll go elsewhere." She spun around and whisked out the door, hooking Deanne and Onmund's arms in hers as she passed. "Come on. There are plenty of other rooms to try."

Deanne went along, but her footsteps dragged. When Brelyna finally let go, the ward slowed further until she came to a halt. Her companions noticed and stopped to turn back. "Deanne? What's wrong?"

The woman turned her head behind them, pondering. J'Zargo had spoken more shortly than usual. His typical bravado overshadowed by a harsher emotion…Maybe she was thinking too much on this. Maybe he was just having a bad day. But maybe…

She turned back to her friends. "Do you think he's alright?"

"Alright? Of course he's alright. He's J'Zargo. The single greatest mage in all existence." Brelyna had her own anger-fed shortness in her voice.

Deanne continued, "I just mean that…he doesn't spend time with anyone, does he? Not since the incident with the apprentices in the Midden. Since they…died, he hasn't had anyone to work with."

Onmund considered. "Now that you mention it, he was part of that crowd. Or tried to be. …You're right. I don't think I've seen him with anyone else."

"So he works alone now. So?"

Deanne replied, "So…maybe we could invite him along for this."

The womer gaped. "You? Want to invite _him_?"

Deanne withdrew. She hadn't expected quite that negative of a response. "I just thought…it might be a nice gesture. He might be lonely without anyone to practice with." Or she could be reading too much into one unpleasant reply. "…It was just a thought."

Her friends debated the idea. Onmund ultimately replied, "We could ask. He seems to be a pretty good mage. It might help to have him looking at the spell with us."

"But he's so arrogant," Brelyna argued.

"And you're kind of judgmental. So?"

"So you actually _want_ to work with him?"

Onmund pointed out, "I'm not saying he isn't…grating. But he's a good mage. And we worked pretty well together against the wraiths. And he might say 'no'. Doesn't mean we shouldn't ask."

Brelyna simmered, debating with herself. But considering she was standing with two who were less averse to the idea, she relented. "Fine. We'll ask. And by 'we', I mean 'you'."

He sighed and Deanne interjected, "I'll do it." It had been her idea, after all. And neither of the others seemed particularly eager about it.

She retraced her steps and slowly pushed the workroom door open again. In the quiet, she could hear quill assaulting parchment. She almost hesitated to disturb him again. Except she felt Brelyna and Onmund at her back, and therefore pressure to follow through as she'd said. "J'Zargo?"

The Khajiit hissed with frustration. "Did J'Zargo not say he was busy?"

"We didn't mean to—" Deanne stopped and refocused on what she'd come back for. "We—the three of us—were going to do some Alteration research on an old spell. Would you like to join us?"

"No. J'Zargo is too busy." It was hard not to take the sharpness of his reply personally.

"…Oh. Alright. Sorry for disturbing you." Deanne withdrew from the room and closed the door behind her. Her comrades were right there. She made an effort to shrug off the rejection. "At least we asked."

"Forget it," Brelyna said. "If he doesn't want to _EXPLORE LOST MAGIC_, then we can't make him." Deanne hoped that the raised voice was meant to entice and not as a cruel jab through the door. "Come on. There's sure to be a free workroom somewhere here."

They found one and spent the next several hours working through the intricacies of the spell. Once or twice, Deanne thought she heard the door open, but no one either spoke or entered, so she let it be.

XXX

They had another day before Alteration with Magister Tolfdir, so it was one more day where the three of them clustered together into a workroom to figure out the spell. At least that was the plan. On the way to the chamber, Brelyna began riffling through the materials in her bag. The gesture became more intense, growing more and more irate with each passing moment.

"Brelyna?" Deanne asked from Onmund's arm. "What's wrong?"

"I can't find…Hang on." She stopped in the hallway and knelt down, pulling books and supplies out of her bag one by one. She finally upended the bag altogether and shook it as though that might force the item to reveal itself. Brelyna set the thing down and shifted hastily through the books again. "The spell tome. It's not here. Did either of you keep it last night?"

"No. It went in your bag, same as everything," Onmund said.

If she had been irate before, Brelyna was frantic now. "Oh, no! That was the only copy in the whole Arcanaeum! If we lose it, Urag is going to have us torn apart by angry atronachs! We have to find it!"

The others caught her urgency. "Where do we remember having it last? Did we leave it in the workroom, maybe?" Deanne started.

"Maybe. Come on. Oh, I hope it's in there!"

They ran the remaining distance to reach the room. As they arrived, Deanne could feel someone already working a spell within. And, even from here, Deanne recognized that the spell was—

Brelyna threw the door open and streaked inside, disrupting the cast of the occupant. There were a total of three seconds in which the womer took in the scene, and two more for her frantic fear to morph into anger. The fifth heard her shriek, _"J'Zargo, you jerk!"_

The Khajiit might as well not have even been there, he stood so still and silent. "…Ah…well…Hello. J'Zargo was not expecting you so early."

Brelyna was barreling across the room before anyone could react. J'Zargo shrieked and tried to get out of her way. They ended up tumbling to the ground, wrestling like a pair of children. Deanne stayed frozen where she was, trying to track the chaos. "Onmund, what's happening?"

"I don't—" He trotted forward, avoiding the pair as they scrambled. "Hey! That's our spell tome!"

Somehow, Brelyna managed to get the upper hand and high ground, shaking J'Zargo by the robes, thumping his head repeatedly onto the ground. "You jerk! You stole that from me, didn't you? Didn't you?!"

He yowled, but was saved when Onmund lifted Brelyna bodily away, the womer thrashing around. J'Zargo remained prone, getting his breath back. "You are crazy, womer! J'Zargo did not steal your tome."

"Well then how did you get it?" Deanne asked, coming toward them carefully. A quick broad-cast of telekinesis found the book near where they'd scuffled and Deanne snapped it up into the security of her arms.

"J'Zargo did not steal it… He borrowed."

Brelyna began thrashing with renewed vigor, almost getting loose of Onmund's restraint, electrifying the air and screeching, "You are such a jerk! I oughta fry you, right here!"

J'Zargo flinched away from the outburst, scrambling to his feet and drawing up a ward. "He was going to give it back."

"You fetching, thieving, piece of guar-dung, arrogant, son of a—"

"Brelyna, calm down!" Onmund insisted.

Deanne could tell this wasn't going to end well. "J'Zargo, did you take the tome from her without asking?"

"Well…" He squirmed under the unspoken accusation and her unseeing gaze. "…How else was J'Zargo supposed to get it?"

Well if that didn't set off the womer again. J'Zargo just seemed to egg her the wrong way in every sense. There had to be a way to settle this down. "You need to apologize," Deanne stated.

"For what?" he demanded.

Deanne walked up and found his shoulder, and pushed him toward the struggling Brelyna. "Apologize. Right now."

"What? Why?"

"Because you should. Go on." She pushed him forward, the betmer resisting with every step. "If you don't, she'll just get angrier." He grumbled, fidgeting. Brelyna fumed where Onmund held her. And still J'Zargo didn't speak. Deanne sighed and stepped away from the offender. "Okay. Onmund, I think you can let her go."

"What? No! Okay, okay! J'Zargo is sorry for taking your tome. Alright?"

"Aaaaand…" Brelyna gritted through her teeth.

He sighed. "And J'Zargo promises not to do it again. Happy?"

"Maybe after I _hit_ you again," Brelyna growled.

He growled back in exasperation. "J'Zargo did not 'steal' your tome. Why else would he be here? If J'Zargo was going to keep it, why would he practice the spell, with the tome, in the open, in the workroom where you were sure to return? Hm?"

He did have a point. The others saw it, too. Brelyna cooled, if a little, then kicked herself free of her captor. "Let me go already. I won't kill him." She was released slowly, still fuming, but quieted. "So why _are _you here?"

"Is that not obvious? J'Zargo is going to assist you."

The womer flinched. "What? We asked you yesterday and you said 'no'," Brelyna accused.

"Well, J'Zargo was busy yesterday. Now he is not. Therefore he will assist you."

His blatant—and frankly arrogant—declaration was…well…

"What makes you think we _want _your 'assistance'?!" Wow, Brelyna really had it out for him today. Small wonder. He'd taken a few years off her life by snitching the spell tome when and how he had.

"Because J'Zargo is a great mage, and you need him. That is clear. You did not even cleanse the space properly yesterday." And he was back to the conceited mage they were used to.

Brelyna was about to explode again. Onmund was conflicted. And J'Zargo was not helping his case at all.

Deanne needed to find a middling ground. "Say 'please', first," Deanne said firmly. Her demand was absurd and took the others by surprise. Well—surprise enough to keep Brelyna from leaping at J'Zargo again. So Deanne held to it. "Ask nicely, and we'll let you practice with us. And you have to mean it."

More grumbling from him, but Brelyna's fume had mellowed to a simmer. She could practically hear J'Zargo's teeth grinding. Deanne half expected him to walk out, actually. Instead, he forced a calming breath through himself before replying. "Please. J'Zargo would like to practice with his fellows."

Deanne turned toward the others. This wasn't just her decision after all. Onmund conceded. "Alright. Since he's here."

Brelyna held her ground. She stalked forward—the rest of them tensing—and she socked J'Zargo hard enough to make him yell. The womer spun back around. "Alright. Let's get to work."

J'Zargo growled, rubbing his arm vigorously. "You are crazy, womer."

"Then leave," Brelyna retorted.

Onmund interjected before another argument could break out. "It's fine. Can we just…" From the sound of it, this whole commotion was probably giving him a headache. Did Deanne have a Restoration spell for that? "What were you doing before we got here? Let's start with that."

Except J'Zargo turned hesitant. "Oh, well…it was nothing. J'Zargo was just…J'Zargo wishes to know how far you have gotten, first. So he will know how much it will take for you to catch up."

Deanne detected a falseness to his words. "We were working on this _first_. _You_ took the tome without asking. So?"

The Khajiit drew himself up for another pride-fueled tirade or other, but the three expectant pairs of eyes—two seeing, if one was to be specific—caught him up. "Well…J'Zargo was…practicing the proper cast. Obviously."

Brelyna laughed boisterously. "Haha! I bet you can't even cast it right."

"Hey! J'Zargo can so…almost. If you hadn't come so early, J'Zargo would have had it down."

Deanne sighed and stepped over to tug on Brelyna's bag of supplies. "Let's get J'Zargo caught up on what we know and go from there. Is that alright with everyone?" Divines, at this rate they wouldn't start until the afternoon.

Four mages converged on the work table and the materials from the bag were soon spread out across it. Brelyna and J'Zargo started up sniping right away, but at least most of it was constructive: debating particulars and methods and so forth. Deanne decided to just accept it as a fixture of the grouping. Together, they might have something to show Magister Tolfdir tomorrow, after all.

**Always wondered about the Waterwalking. It meant that swimming included listening for that foreboding 'sloshing' sound when you had a slaughterfish on your tail. Swim faster! Thank the Nine for mods. How do you think J'Zargo is shaping up? Does Brelyna need an Anger Management class? Will Onmund ever get a clue? Leave your input below and I'll see you next time on The Mind's Eye! (BTW, I can't help but say most of that in a Dragon Ball Z narrator voice. XP)**


	28. Field Trip!

**Let's get this weekend started right! (hehe, I almost said 'write'-Oh wait...Dang it!)**

The tent was much more cumbersome than they anticipated—"To the right. No, the other right!" "Wait, back up. It's caught." "Ackh! That is J'Zargo's _tail_!"—not to mention how the wind tugged and buffeted the fabric while the mages tried to erect the thing in the courtyard—"Ah! I lost a corner. Hold on, I've—Get back here!" "We're missing a pole," "Where is the hammer? Did anyone remember to bring a hammer?" But at long last, the tent was erected and the four of them collapsed inside, gratified.

"Finally! I don't remember it being that hard," Onmund said.

Brelyna flopped down on the ground complete with a sigh, pointing out, "It'll be easier down there. Less wind on the beach, down between the cliffs. Well, depending on where we set up."

Deanne noticed J'Zargo had gotten rather quiet. There were none of his usual self-adulating declarations. "What's wrong, J'Zargo? Not happy with the tent?"

He sat up, forcibly rebounding from whatever depths of thought had distracted him. "J'Zargo is most pleased. He does not wish to be going up and down from the water every few hours," the Khajiit replied, quashing snow and brushing aside errant pebbles from where they sat. "It would help, also, if the blind mage were to enchant the tent against the cold."

"That's a good idea," Onmund replied, a little strained as he tried to overlook how haughtily the idea had been presented.

"Of course it is. Those are the only ones J'Zargo ever has."

Brelyna's tolerance reached its limit about there. "Alright, first of all, her name is Deanne,"—Oh, dear; that hadn't lasted long at all—"And second, why do you have to always do that?"

"J'Zargo does not know what you mean."

"That whole 'I am the greatest mage alive' thing," Breyna said. "You know, some of the time you're a decent person. But then you always go and talk down at us like we don't know what we're doing. Telling us how great you are compared to everyone else and how lucky we are that you're bothering to associate with us. It's insufferable! Why? Why do you do that?"

Both Deanne and Onmund braced for another Brelyna/J'Zargo clash. They had to reach some sort of equilibrium eventually, didn't they? Didn't they?

"J'Zargo knows the mages' names."

"Then use them! What is with your ego?"

"J'Zargo needs his ego. It is how he will become successful."

"By telling everyone how great you are? Hate to break it to you, but telling people you're great doesn't necessarily make it so. You're nowhere near as good a mage as you think you are."

The Khajiit growled. "J'Zargo knows how great he is. Better than the womer does."

"Stop, stop! Just stop!" Deanne yelled. She shrank from the anger around her, hating it. It felt too much like when Marc and Father had fought, their words turning the air toxic. "Please, just… This isn't helping anyone. Please."

Perhaps it was the fervidity of her plea or the fact that she so rarely raised her voice, or perhaps they had had enough for the time being, but Brelyna and J'Zargo fell silent. The space within the tent remained oppressive as the group sat, the next spoken word all too likely to set off another argument. The Winterhold winds were predominant in their ears, butting against the outside of their erected enclosure.

J'Zargo took a breath and everyone tensed up. "…J'Zargo…does not say these things to put down his fellow mages." The words sounded squeezed through a tightly cinched throat. There wasn't an immediate response from the others. Even Brelyna waited for him to elaborate. An uncomfortable sound twisted in the Khajiit's chest, but he continued. "J'Zargo says these things for himself. He wishes to be a great mage. But to do this, he knows he must believe in himself. He must tell himself every day that he is great, and will be greater. He must say it loudly and often, so that he believes it to be possible, even if no one else does."

The rest of them regarded him, processing the mentality that insisted J'Zargo wear his aspirations outward.

"That's actually…a really enlightened approach," Onmund said. "Sort of a 'fake it until you make it', right?"

J'Zargo harrumphed. "If that is how the Nord thinks of it. J'Zargo lives what he knows will be true. The world need only catch up with him."

Brelyna mellowed, grumbling herself, "Well could you at least tone it down a little."

All contrition twisted to mockery. "Oh, J'Zargo is sorry. Not every mage had a family there to support and encourage. Some of us had only ourselves and needed to make it besides."

Brelyna huffed and responded sullenly, "It's not as good as it's chocked up to be." She sobered and tightened up, darkening as she continued. "Having an ancestry steeped in magic, you have more expectations than support or encouragement. Always pressure to succeed, everyone telling you how great you _ought _to be. Always these impossible expectations hanging over your head and everyone around you watching, expecting you to live up to them regardless of your capabilities or your own personal preferences. My parents reserved a spot here for me on the day I was born. I didn't get a choice in any of it." Brelyna shifted her legs around. "This isn't me one-uping you on your life. I'm just saying that every time you flaunt yourself around and talk like you're the greatest thing ever, I'm reminded of all that pressure back home. I just want to learn. I'm not here to compete with anyone. And the way you talk, I feel like I'm expected to! So would you tone it down?!"

Another period of regarding, completed when the Khajiit begrudgingly admitting, "To be clear, J'Zargo knows he has far to go and much to learn." As if to refute the implied weakness of the statement, he declared resolutely, "But one day he shall be as great as he says. And on that day, he shall not be surprised at all!"

The group chuckled softly, his volume a bit easier to swallow with some grasp of what was going on in his head.

"Sorry about your family, Brelyna," Deanne said.

The womer's shoulder shifted against Deanne's as she shrugged. "It's fine. I'm the only member of my family to leave Morrowind in a long time. Here in Winterhold, with all of them so far away, it's easier not to think about it."

Onmund hummed in agreement. "I know the feeling. Though my family was…sort of the opposite. It took years of insisting to convince them that this was what I'm meant to do. Although, they probably still think that me coming here is a death sentence. Or worse, a disgrace." He shook himself firmly. "Doesn't help that that accident with the other apprentices happened so soon after I got here. If it wasn't for you all, I might have even thought about going back home. But, as it stands, I'm glad that I'm here."

Deanne asked curiously, "So your family didn't want you to come?"

"Oh no, of course not. They're a typical Nord lot, shunning magic on principle. If it couldn't be swung over their heads and used to crack skulls, they didn't want anything to do with it. Made it difficult for me growing up. They figured magic was for elves and weaker races. So when I started casting spells…it didn't go over well. They tried to get me to quiet down and act 'normal'. But…at one point, I realized it wasn't worth pretending. Not if it meant being anything but myself. I couldn't do it. Wouldn't do it. Not even for them." He sighed, even the act of recollecting the events draining him. "It was a fight with them from then on. But being here now, with people who understand me? I consider it a blessing. …Even if I probably won't be going home again now that I'm staying the course."

J'Zargo chuffed. "J'Zargo thinks you are better off. If they hold you back, you leave them behind. Go back one day, riding on the shoulders of an atronach, bring a lighting storm down around their ears and freeze their house solid. Show them how wrong they were to doubt you!"

Onmund sat up and responded sharply, "I'm not going to do that. They're my family, J'Zargo. As much as I wish they accepted me, I'm not going to think of them as an enemy to be beaten."

J'Zargo scoffed. "Well maybe you should. It is the only way to earn respect."

"Is that what you call it?" Brelyna asked critically. "You really didn't have anyone, did you?"

"No. Everything J'Zargo has done he has done himself. Without help! He learned spells by himself, he grew powerful by himself, reached the College by himself. Made himself great all on his own."

"Was that on purpose, or because you had no choice?" Onmund inquired.

"His choice!" J'Zargo declared. Then he fell quiet, weighted by less pleasant memories. Then, in a smaller voice, he added, "Though not at first." He rebounded just as quickly. "That does not mean J'Zargo must be pitied!"

Brelyna replied just as fast. "Who said anything about pity? We're just looking to understand why you act like such a jerk so often."

"J'Zargo is not a jerk. You are the only one who says so. And why are you so quick to hit J'Zargo over it? He wonders if maybe the womer is projecting her family issues on poor J'Zargo so she can beat on them like a kit."

"Shut up!" she snapped. Although the words seemed to hit rather close to home. "But I see your point. I won't hit you anymore. But only if you tone down all that… 'J'Zargo is mightier than thou' talk. Got it?"

The Khajiit grumbled half-seriously. "That hardly seems like a fair bargain. But fine. For his fellow mages, J'Zargo will try. But he does not promise to stop." Brelyna grumbled to herself. But, similarly, it was a milder form of irritation.

The wind continued to bluster outside, though none of the four young mages were inclined to step back out into it yet. They could stand to sit a little while longer in the confines of the tent and each other's company.

"What about you, Deanne?" Onmund asked.

"What about me?"

"You've been awfully quiet."

"Yes!" J'Zargo exclaimed. "We have all had a turn. Let the blind one share."

"Again, her name is Deanne! And she doesn't have to if she doesn't want to." Brelyna turned her next words to Deanne herself. "You don't have to talk about it. Really." She was the only one who knew anything about Deanne's story, and what she did know was enough to sensitize her to the issues of bringing it up.

"No, I can talk about it. It's alright." The pain was still there, but it was easier to carry with time. And J'Zargo did have a point. "My life was fairly sheltered. My mother died on an expedition when I was just a baby. My father actually gave up his scholastic work and became a day laborer in Skingrad so that he could be home to take care of me and my brother. My brother was the one to go study magic. I can't remember why he came home, though. But…" Here was where the pain took hold, but she pressed on besides. "My father became ill. A wasting sickness. He sent me and my brother north, here, but we got separated and…I don't know if Marc is even alive. He never made it to Winterhold." She sniffed hard, trying to stay firm. "The short telling is that I'm alone for the first time in my life. And…I really don't know what to do."

Brelyna sensed her increasing fragility and linked their arms together. The connection was welcomed and Deanne leaned into it, but stayed sitting up. She'd come far since coming to Winterhold, but the fact remained, she had no idea where her life was headed. Even with her growing skills and her friends and mentors, she was still adrift. And, especially with her disability, that was terrifying.

Onmund adjusted his seat on her other side. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think any of us really know what we're doing yet."

J'Zargo scoffed. "Speak for yourself."

Onmund groaned in exasperation and turned to their other. "Oh, really?"

"Of course. J'Zargo will be a great and powerful mage." Even Deanne had to admit, that was getting repetitive.

"But how are you going to do that? Exactly," Onmund pressed.

The Khajiit took a breath and stalled…One—Two false starts to speak, choking on the wrong words, and he withdrew, muttering beneath his breath.

"My point, exactly." Onmund continued toward the women, "But I think, if we're going to…you know, find our ways in the world, it would be easier to do it together. I mean, we're all pretty much on our own, right? And considering how well we did down the Midden, it sounds like we'd have a good shot at…well, whatever we do."

"Aren't we already pretty much a team?" Brelyna pointed out.

"Yes. But I mean, officially. You know how Deanne knew that going down to the Midden was important? Well, I feel the same way about this."

Deanne smiled. She liked the sound of that: having a real, solid support system at the College. One that she chose, and that chose her.

Brelyna agreed. "That sounds good." She paused and leaned forward, "Does that mean we have to include him, too?"

"J'Zargo is sitting right here!"

"Yes, but you've been very clear about not needing anyone else to succeed."

"He doesn't! …But perhaps it would be easier, working with others. If only to know how much further ahead he is."

Deanne giggled and the ludicrousy of him while Brelyna's head fell into her hands. "This is never going to stop with you, is it?"

J'Zargo sounded pleased when he declared, "It is true. You are stuck with J'Zargo! You will need to have a proper mage in attendance, after all."

Deanne clapped her hands over her mouth, desperately trying to stifle her laughter as J'Zargo and Brelyna started bickering again, Onmund laughing a little next to her. She sat up, captured Brelyna's hand with one of hers, and found Onmund's with the other. "So. Together, then."

Like in the Midden, they squeezed her hands back, going further and adjusting to sit circled together. "Together." "Together." The word was spoken like a pact to some unknown end, and followed by a silence that sealed the oath.

"Oh, really?" J'Zargo demanded incredulously. "Holding hands? This is too sappy."

Brelyna twisted toward him, rebuking, "We're having a moment, here. Do you want to be a part of it or not?"

He muttered, fidgeted, crawled forward and flopped down to complete their circle, and took the available hands, finally repeating, "Together." Though he said it more like a child begrudging a demand. Deanne beamed regardless. "…Now the moment has passed. Can we now put the tent away _before _we all freeze to death? Or choke on this gushiness?"

The four scrambled up and proceeded with the involved, clumsy and overly vocalized process of bringing down their shelter again. Deanne liked to think they all wore smiles as constant as her own. As strange as this grouping was, it felt like they would work out. And given what the Augur of Dunlain had said, chances were she would need them.

XXX

Deanne checked and rechecked everything before she even considered packing it up. Spare robes, enchanted to resist frost. Boots, waterproof. Gloves, double insulated and enchanted. Three pairs of heavy socks. A sleeping sack. With a blanket. A towel. Did she need anything else? She couldn't think of anything. But that didn't necessarily mean there wasn't anything. Divines, she was so nervous! True, the College wouldn't be that far out of reach. But still—

Someone cleared their throat at her door and Deanne whirled to them on the spot. Her mind was so set on her task that she couldn't identify them on that first sound. "Yes?" she asked, her voice too high _not_ to betray her nerves.

"Deanne." Mirabelle. Wait, what was she doing here? "Magister Tolfdir informed me that you and three others are leaving the College grounds for research."

"Uh…Yes, ma'am." They'd told the Alteration Magister about their plan once they knew it was feasible. "Is there a problem?" Had they missed something? Done something inappropriate? _Not_ done something they should have?

"No, no problem," the Master Wizard assured her, evenly. "I merely wish to ensure that you are fully aware of what you are undertaking. This will be your first time outside the College since your arrival, yes?"

Deanne swallowed. "Yes. It will." That fact had been worrying away at her thoughts since yesterday, shredding her certainty about the whole thing. If they didn't get under way soon, she might bow out entirely. As it was, the others were so excited that Deanne didn't have it in her to voice her fear.

Whether the Master Wizard could tell what she was thinking or had come for this specific trail of questioning in mind, she continued, "And are you certain about this? If you are uncomfortable with having only apprentices in your company, a Magister may be found to chaperone."

Deanne swallowed again. They had talked about that. "Thank you, Magister. But I think we'll be fine. We spent a week preparing and planning." Amidst the tumult of nerves, there was that smallest solid breakwater that she clung to. "This is something we're doing together. And we'd like to do it ourselves. And I trust them with my life." She'd done so once already. And certainly the ocean had nothing on a kettle of ice wraiths.

Mirabelle did not press any further. "Very well. I will urge you to be careful, but I suspect you especially have taken full account of the risks and precautions. On a separate note, the College is expecting a delivery of alchemical ingredients. The Archmage asked that you see him this evening when you return. Beyond that, I wish you well."

The ward breathed a sigh of relief as the Master Wizard departed. That was it? Of course that was it. They'd followed procedure, kept the faculty informed of their work and plans. The students knew where they were going, what they were going to do and what they needed to do it. Yes, they had been careful in every aspect of this expedition that any of them had thought of.

So why was she still so impossibly nervous?

Deanne rechecked everything she had laid out and proceeded to put it all into her travel pack, then she carried it out the door to where the small collection of items was being compiled. Brelyna and Onmund were huffing, trying to get the tent back to secure all and sundry equipment that was going to be used related to it. The poles didn't sound to be cooperating.

"Was that the Master Wizard?" Brelyna asked, then grunted when Onmund gave a jerk to what he was holding.

"Yes. She wanted to make sure we knew what we were doing. Do you need another hand?"

Brelyna let out another 'oof' and said, "Yes. Just help me hold this, would you? Before Onmund rips the strap off its seam."

"I almost got it," he insisted.

Deanne dutifully put her pack down and went to Brelyna's aid, the three of them playing tug-of-war with the straps until Onmund finally managed to get it hooked on the other side. "Finally!"

The women rolled backwards onto the floor, relieved. "And speaking of 'finally'…" Brelyna said, slyly, as J'Zargo came to join them. "What were you doing? Sewing the robes from scratch?"

J'Zargo shot a hiss at her. "Are we ready?"

Deanne stood up, dusting off her clothing. "As ready as we'll ever be."

"Good. Then let us go. Daylight is burning away!"

Deanne reached down and pulled Brelyna to her feet. They loaded up on their equipment and packs. Onmund carried the tent. J'Zargo carried Onmund's pack and his own. Brelyna and Deanne carried their own bags and the various supplies for their experimentation, which still left one arm free each to link so that Deanne had guidance. And with that, they managed to get out the door and walk to the entrance of the College. Deanne's heart clenched with every step. The others were excited as they came to the College front gates and pushed them open, strolling out through them. Deanne meant to follow. She really did. Not freeze between the gates, halting Brelyna next to her.

"Deanne?"

She trembled. She didn't mean to, but still her hands shook. "…This…this is the first time I'll be out of the College since I got here." She swallowed again, the act even harder now than it had been inside. "This is going to be the first time I'll walk _out _of these gates. The very first time," she said quietly.

"It is? You should have said something. We could have…I don't know. Walked down to the end and back a few times beforehand."

Deanne squeezed her friend's arm closer. "I didn't want to be a bother. We had so much else to prepare and…I thought I'd be okay." But she wasn't. Deanne opened her mind's eye and looked out ahead of her. The College's viral magic swirled in the air, centered around the College. It faded with distance until she couldn't see anything at all. Beyond a certain point…the world went dark again. Dark and empty, and daunting.

The men were already past the focal point beyond the gates. Onmund had to compete with the winds to be heard. "You two alright?"

"We're fine," Brelyna shouted back. "Keep going. We'll catch you at the end. Don't lose the tent."

"Okay!" Deanne could imagine he was fighting the winds every step, carrying the bulkiest of their burdens.

Brelyna hefted her pack and held Deanne's arm with both hands. "Do you want to summon Fang?"

"Yeah…yeah, that's a good idea." She reached out and gave him the means to come to her side. Fang caught her sense of fear as he arrived and came to her hand, leaning heavily into her side. Deanne shifted hold of their bags so she could reach down and grasp the fur on his back. Another few seconds…and she decided to close her mind's eye. She didn't want to actually 'see' where her full blindness took hold again.

Brelyna, bless her, was patient about the whole thing. "Whenever you're ready."

Deanne took deep breaths. She could do this. They weren't going far. Her friends wouldn't leave her, and she could call Fang to bring her back if worse came to worse. "Okay…I'm ready."

Brelyna stepped forward, and Deanne went with her, following the guidance of both the womer and her familiar. They moved around the focus point and down the first incline. Deanne remembered to count her steps again. It felt like it had been a long time since she'd had to do that. A Focus point marked the first turn on the walkway. Another hundred steps and there was another. They passed beneath a high archway—she remembered this—and as the last incline evened out, Deanne stepped out onto a gritted and icy road on the mainland.

"…You okay?" Brelyna asked.

Deanne cinched them closer together. "Yes, just…don't let go."

"Promise."

Onmund and J'Zargo, apparently, had stopped to wait around the corner of the walkway, sheltered from the wind. "Are you two coming or not?"

"We're here, you jerk. Just relax."

Onmund detected Deanne's anxiety. "You okay, Deanne?"

"Yeah, I'm alright." Under some unknown amount of scrutiny—even from her friends—she felt pressured to hold herself together. "So…where next?"

"It's this way."

He huffed, lifting the tent back onto his back, and Deanne held on to Brelyna as they pulled a U-turn and proceeded back along beside and then under the walkway they'd just traversed. The path became steeper and the winds whipped by them, snow pelting their faces and worming its way beneath their scholars and cuffs. Their feet slipped periodically on the iced over ground. There was a skittering sound and a sudden yelp as Onmund's flew out from under him entirely and he went sliding away from them.

"Onmund!"

His voice pulled away and the three others went skidding after him. By the time they reached the Nord, he was lying on the ground, laughing hysterically. "Well that's one way to get down a hill."

Deanne cast Restoration, just to check on him, and Brelyna groaned in exasperation. "Don't do that!"

"Yes!" J'Zargo agreed. "If anything happens to you, who do you think will have to carry the tent back in your stead? Not the blind one, that is for certain."

Onmund snatched up a wad of snow and threw it at the Khajiit, though it splattered all three of those standing.

"Hey! Stop that. It's cold enough already."

Brelyna brushed the two of them off, and insisted, "Come on. You're alright."

The rest of the way down was accomplished without mishap. Divines, it was a long way down, wasn't it? So much further than she would have thought. The College really was perched out from the mainland. The sound of waves broke through the barrage of icy winds, speaking of the sea's growing proximity. They came around the last bend and turned again, heading back in the College's direction. The ground changed from solid to the coarse, pebbly beach Deanne had first encountered the ocean on. Quite suddenly, the winds ceased, broken by high standing walls of stone that served to shelter the space that the mages intended to use for their work, the area over which the College's bridge was suspended. Oddly enough, this was not nearly as reassuring as Deanne thought it would be. There were now high standing walls of stone all around them. And with that climb, she had a fairly good idea of just how high they stood. That, along with all the stories she'd heard about the Great Collapse that had broken entire sections of cliff off of the area, taking most of the city of Winterhold with it…Deanne held Brelyna's arm tighter, listening hard to their surroundings for any sign that they might turn against the tiny people traveling through them.

"You okay, Deanne?" Brelyna asked quietly while the men started debating a place to set up.

"…You don't think anything is going to fall on us, do you? I mean, it's been years since the Great Collapse. Everything that would have fallen already has…right?"

"Oh, yes. Of course." Although, now that Deanne had voiced the concern, she felt Brelyna craning her head, taking new stock of their surroundings. "At least I hope so."

Well, that was hardly reassuring.

"How about right here?" Onmund offered. "That pool ought to work. It's not too deep. And there's enough space here to set up camp above high tide and everything."

"J'Zargo agrees. It is a good place. Let's set up, already!"

Deanne and Brelyna put aside their packs—and their worries—to pitch in. The set-up was not yet a practiced maneuver, but they managed it. Arrangement of their belongings was even easier. "Who has the heating unit?"

"J'Zargo, of course." He pulled out the enchanted centerpiece and set it in the middle of the tent before activating it.

Brelyna moaned in appreciation as waves of heat began billowing off of it to fill the space and chase off the biting cold. "Can you imagine how much shorter this excursion would be if we had to depend on firewood?"

"The perks of being a mage," Onmund agreed.

After only a minute of appreciation, Brelyna leapt to her feet. "Alright! Let's get to it."

Deanne checked the ties on her waterproof boots. "Do you have all your enchanted gear on?" She'd dipped into her saved coin purse to purchase filled soul gems enough for all of them to have something enchanted to keep them warm. The compilation was hardly all encompassing, but every little bit helped.

"Of course," Brelyna declared. She went prancing out of the tent and down the beach, the coarse sands shifting under her feet as she went. The womer actually _jumped _into the shallows, then let out a yelp that bounced every which way off the cliffs and boulders around them. "Sweet Azura, that's _cold_!"

Onmund laughed aloud. "It's Winterhold! What did you expect?"

"Oh, shut up!" was the reply.

Deanne felt Brelyna begin casting. The ward decided her mind's eye would better serve them open, even if she couldn't 'see' the world quite like she could in the College. Brelyna's magic took form in Deanne's mind, expanding as she turned it to an Alteration affect. Hm…that was…interesting. It was subtle, but Deanne could see Brelyna's excess magic finding currents in the air not unlike those up at the College. They weren't as bright—which made them harder to see—but it was just the same. So…perhaps if Deanne were to expel magic along them deliberately, she could 'see' them like at the College. At least until that magic dissipated.

The ward drew out her magicka and, undirected, released it in a burst, 'seeing' it find the magical currents in the air, 'seeing' the magic light them up and outline the air, the sand, the stones—Then it was gone, faded away. She did it again, giving it a bit more this time. A larger area lit up for a few seconds before disappearing .

Her expenditures were noticed. "What are you doing?" Onmund asked, taking his attention from the tome he was reviewing.

"Just…trying something. Not Waterwalking related. Don't worry about it." Deanne stood up and stepped outside to walk toward the nearest outlined structure, her steps small and her hands outstretched. She found the stone precisely where her pulse had outlined it. The surface was cold, but smooth. She let out another pulse of magicka and identified the edges, as well as the surface of the water and part of the pool they were using. Yes, this could work. She grinned. If she ever found herself out alone, she could use this to navigate. At least a little. Deanne sighed, relieved by the discovery.

Brelyna chose that time to shriek, splashing indicating she had—or had almost—fallen completely over. Onmund leapt out onto the beach. "You okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Almost had it— Get down here! I need to lean on you."

He sighed heavily—but it was closely followed by a chuckle—and trotted down as ordered. "You coming, Deanne?"

"Yeah!" Brelyna shouted. "You're not going to make me do this on my own, are you?"

"Okay, I'm coming," Deanne called back. Onmund adjusted his course so they would meet and attempted to take her arm. Deanne caught his hand mid-attempt and pressed it back to him, smiling broadly. "It's alright, Onmund. I've got this."

She turned in Brelyna's direction and lifted her hand, releasing a pulse. One by one, she kept a portion of the world illuminated until she reached the water. Deanne squeaked when she stepped into it, but she kept going, completing her self-sufficient journey by tagging Brelyna on the shoulder. "Found you." Divines, this grin was going to be plastered on her face all day.

"Deanne? Something you want to share?" Brelyna asked, bemused.

Deanne just grinned wider. "Maybe later." She shuddered hard. "Divines, it's cold!"

"That's what I said!" Then it was back to the matter at hand. "Onmund, come over here. The balance is a lot harder than I thought it would be, and I don't want to get completely soaked."

"Okay, okay," he replied, complacent before the demand. "When did you get so bossy?"

"Oh, hush," she demanded.

Deanne focused on how Brelyna spun her magic. She was casting it the same way they had in the lab, but it wasn't quite doing what it was supposed to now that they were practicing on water. "Not quite. Let me help."

Brelyna 'plooched' back into the pool. "Okay. You're the one who can see it."

They tried again, Onmund holding Brelyna steady while the women tried to get the water to concentrate _under _her feet. There was staggering, splashing, and general excited effort. They were all damp after a few minutes. "Deanne, you try."

They shifted positions: Onmund and Brelyna gave her their shoulders and Deanne put her focus into warping the water to stay down. She managed to get partially buoyed, which was where Brelyna's 'balance' complaint gained context. It was like trying to stay on top of greased cheese wheels. "Wait—No—Almost—_Ah_!" She plunged back to the bottom, almost taking Brelyna down with her. "Oh, shit, I almost had it!"

"Deanne! Language!"

Deanne froze and flushed, and her companions burst out laughing. It was terribly infectious, and the ward soon joined them.

"J'Zargo wonders if you are accomplishing anything!" their last companion shouted from the confines of the tent. "Or is your failure so funny?"

"Well, Brelyna wonders what the mighty J'Zargo is still doing in the tent!" Brelyna jabbed back.

He scoffed. "J'Zargo wants to be sure he will get it right before he tries."

"And Brelyna wonders—" She stopped midsentence, and realization dawned. "Oh my—Are you afraid of getting wet?!"

J'Zargo squawked from his seat. "Of course not! J'Zargo will come down when he is good and ready!"

Brelyna laughed triumphantly, not taken in for a second. "You are! Haha! The mighty J'Zargo is afraid of the water."

The Khajiit abandoned all pretext and snapped, "_You _do not have fur. _You _do not understand." His declarations diminished to disturbed whines. "It is cold and wet and _miserable_, and it takes hours and hours to get dry." Deanne could discern the intensity of his shudder from here. "J'Zargo will come down when he is good and ready. Not before."

Onmund didn't take the realization quite as gleefully as Brelyna. "Oh, come on, J'Zargo. We brought towels and spare clothes, and the tent will be all warm and waiting once you get out."

J'Zargo still made no move to join them, so Deanne made one last plea, this one to his vanity. "Come, J'Zargo. How are we supposed to accomplish _anything _without _you_?"

She was goading him. She knew it, he knew it, they all knew it. Which was not to say that it wasn't going to work. "Oh, fine! Clearly you cannot do this without J'Zargo. You all look like stumbling kits!" He stomped down to join them. Just like the women, he yelped when his feet touched the water. But, with a great deal of furious muttering and cursing, he waded over to reach them. "N-now, J'Zargo will sh-show you how it is d-done."

Another mage's cast, another person shouting and splashing as they struggled to Alter the water to hold them. They traded off, exchanging being the caster and being the supporter, growing increasingly wet and cold until their complaints and suggestions and exclamations were issued through chattering teeth. Then they pelted for the tent as one, piling into the thoroughly heated interior to exchange freezing damp clothes for dry, theories for improvement and new aspects for their attempts until the chill was worked out of their bodies. Then right back out into the water for another _chilling _round of casts.

As far as the Waterwalking went, it was no use, but Deanne didn't care. In fact, probably none of them did. For all they didn't seem to be getting anywhere, it was exciting and fun! Shouting was coupled with laughter, their complaints more humorously exaggerated than serious, even in the freezing cold. And Deanne wouldn't have traded a moment of it, even for a successful cast.

XXX

The stern Altmer stood before them at the gate. She had a particularly harsh glare for him, but he wasn't paying her any attention. Instead, he was scanning the courtyard beyond. Between the trees and the pillars he couldn't see much, but enough to know it was empty. No sounds of people. The winds stripped all scent away and into the sky. His brow tightened hard enough to make his skull ache. At least it took his mind off the incessant Call that sounded in his blood. How much closer could they get? Was there a way for him to get inside a building, somewhere with public traffic?

Any hopes along those lines were dashed when two more mages came from the far building: a Breton and Dunmer. Neither of them the one he was hoping for.

The Dunmer's attention went to their burdens first and foremost. "Splendid. You were able to procure them. They are unfertilized, I trust."

At his elbow, his own Dunmer shield-brother responded sharply, "Yeah, yeah. But I'll tell you, it was a bitch to do. 'I trust' you're paying us well for this."

Their leader gave the mer a hard elbow and a warning look, then addressed their client more civilly. "We did as you requested. You want us to drop these off somewhere in particular?"

His hope lifted at the prospect of entry, however brief. All he needed was a minute inside a building. Just long enough to take a breath and catch a scent—

"No, no, you've done more than enough. We can take it from here."

The Dunmer mage made twin gestures with his hands. The hairs on the man's neck rose as Oblivion split open and two Dremora appeared out of thin air. His Dunmer shield-brother spat a curse and jerked back while the two Nord warriors remained firm. Refusing to recognize anyone else present, the Dremora gave the two Nords appraising looks, like one might a disdained rival. In the back of his mind, hackles rose. He could only assume it was the same for the other of the Blood beside him. Not that there would be any battle. The Dremora were bound to service, and the wolves made a point not to turn in public.

The Dremora came forward and the warriors passed their burdens on—both parties careful to avoid actually touching one another. Then the Dremora proceeded to follow their summoner back into the College. Any other time, he might have taken some pleasure in knowing they were reduced to beasts of burden, but he had other priorities. Priorities he was being stalwartly denied.

The Breton woman who had accompanied the Dunmer addressed the warriors. "Thank you for your service. We sent the agreed payment to Whiterun. Safe journey to you."

It was as clear a dismissal as any. The other two turned on their heels and proceeded back along the narrow elevated pathway, eager to get back to the mainland. The man remained where he was for another minute, taking one last look within the College walls and earning another meaningful glare from the Altmer. But there was no sign of her. Short of trying to force his way in—which wouldn't end well—chances were he wouldn't get any from here. So he turned his back on the College and followed his shield-brothers.

A waste. Of course it was, he knew it would be. And even if he'd seen her, what in Oblivion was he supposed to say? It didn't matter. Chances were she was getting along fine. For all it was a place of magic, the College was secure. Safe. The best place she could be. So what in Oblivion was he doing here?

Voices snagged on the edge of his hearing and the man whipped his head around so hard he pulled muscles in his neck. The man's hand jumped up to ease the sudden stab of pain while he stared around, searching for the source. The walkway was empty but for him and his shield-brothers, no one was in sight either at the College or on the mainland. He listened besides, straining to hear, hoping this time wasn't a trick of his senses…

But there was nothing. Nothing but wind and snow and stone. '_Shit._'

"You alright, Vilkas?"

He stood another moment, holding to hope until it tore. '_No_.' "Aye." He turned and stalked past his shield-brothers. "I need a drink."

**Yes, as several of you have tossed out there, Deanne's blindness calls for some form of echolocation so she can see around. (But don't get big heads about it. I thought of it for Deanne before you did...Hey! Stay out of my head!)**

**And on a separate note: VILKAS! _*fangirl scream* _How many of you were hoping to see him again? Waiting for him with expectation? And how long should I torture you before answering? Oh, who am I kidding! I want to write this stuff as much as you want to read it.**


	29. Reunion

**There is much excitement over this chapter, on your side and mine.**

They walked back through the College gates still damp and very cold, but in high spirits. No, they hadn't achieved a single successful cast of Waterwalking, but it hardly mattered. The four of them walked as a single unit, conserving their warmth by cinching together as close as possible, giggling and laughing every time someone's foot caught on another, or someone leaned adversely to their neighbor and a breath of chill snuck between them. One might think them all fused at the hips. Deanne could feel every shudder and tooth chatter that came through her friends. They staggered their way into the College, still managing to retain their unit all the way into the Hall of Countenance where they all released exaggerated groans of relief to be in a warm environment again.

"I don't know about you all, but I am going straight to the baths," Brelyna declared. "I need a long, hot soak."

"Oh, that sounds wonderful," Deanne exclaimed.

Only J'Zargo issued a sound of disgust. "Ehck! You spend all day in the freezing sea and now wish to get _more_ wet?"

"A hot bath is different!"

He almost choked on his scoff. "If you say so. Take your towels with you, because J'Zargo will be using the rest. He will spend the rest of the night getting the water from his fur if it is the last thing he does!"

They shared the bathing chamber, each tub separated from the others by partitions that made it possible to speak while maintaining modesty. Brelyna was right: a hot bath was exactly what they needed. Deanne felt luxurious being fully submerged in the tub, her hair floating out when she dipped her head under, heated water seeping to the roots of her hair and leaching the cold out of her body all the way down to the marrow. Oh, Divines bless whoever designed these bathrooms. Her muscles could have just about melted off her body after a while. Although only the women seemed to be able to fully appreciate it; Onmund with his Nord blood tried to convince them it wasn't that bad, and J'Zargo in the corner rubbed himself vigorously with cotton while complaining about the steam. And all the while they talked about the day's progress—or lack thereof—in words that echoed off the tiling.

It must have been an hour at least before the tub-dwellers could bring themselves to abandon the water. Deanne was glad to put on some clothes that weren't infused with sea salt. After walking for a while, it had started to chafe her skin and stiffen up her boots and pants and the lower parts of her robe. Upon convening once again outside their individual bathing chambers, Brelyna immediately let out a peal of laughter that bordered on hysterical.

"Hahahahaha! J'Zargo,—_haha_—you're so _fluffy_!"

"J'Zargo is a powerful mage! He is not 'fluffy'!"

The womer would not be silenced—likely _could _not be silenced. "Sweet Azura! Your fur—_baha!_—Oh, Deanne, I wish you could see this—Fluffy J'Zargo!"

"J'Zargo is not _fluffy_!"

Even Onmund was sniggering at this point. Deanne tried to choke down her own, but it was nigh impossible not to laugh with her friends.

They eventually reached the dining area. There was hot stew prepared for the student body and the group tucked in with relish.

"Do you think we shouldn't have left the tent down there? I mean, it's enchanted. Won't someone steal it?" Onmund inquired.

Brelyna replied aloof, "I don't think anyone would go down there but us. And if they do, it's not that big a loss: a tent and a soul gem."

"And J'Zargo does not recall _you _volunteering to carry the tent back _up_ to the College."

"Alright, alright, I get it," Onmund replied, rescinding his question.

Deanne finished chewing and then asked, "So what next? Do we try some adjustments in the lab? Go down again this week?" As fun as it had been, Deanne thought it just too cold and long a journey to go down again immediately.

Onmund mumbled through a mouthful, swallowed and repeated, "I can't do tomorrow. As great as this is to work on, I need to spend time studying up for Restoration."

"Same for me, but with true names. I still mix up half the Dremora. Maybe we could make this a weekly thing? Mm…or monthly," Brelyna offered.

"J'Zargo agrees. We were getting nowhere. There are other things to learn. And he is not fond of the Winterhold beach." He shuddered, then changed the subject. "But it is good to have others to work with. Does anyone else believe Tolfdir? The man may be a master of Alteration, but J'Zargo is constantly finding his alembic everywhere but where it should go. Is J'Zargo the only one noticing this?"

Deanne chuckled—she'd stumbled across the alembic a time or two herself—and said, "That reminds me, I need to go see the Archmage. Mirabelle said there was to be a delivery today. I should go see if it has come in."

She waited until they'd all finished their meals, then went toward the upper College ramparts as the others dispersed to their own devices.

"Deanne, wait!" J'Zargo came trotting up to the bottom of the stairs behind her.

She found herself a little stunned. "...I think that's the first time you've used my name." Of his own accord, at least.

He shuffled awkwardly. "Yes, well…" He cleared his throat. "It occurs to J'Zargo that he has not actually apologized for what he did…regarding the focus points. With the gloves and the gems…So this is him. Apologizing." The Khajiit resolved, took a deep, deliberate breath, and said, "J'Zargo is sorry that he took your gloves. And ruined them. He should not have done this. And he apologizes."

Deanne turned on the stair, surprised that the proud Khajiit would offer such a thing. And so genuinely! "Thank you. I appreciate the gesture."

"Perhaps now, J'Zargo and Deanne can be friends? He finds time more pleasant when spent with Deanne and the others."

Deanne smiled softly. "I find the same. And yes, I would be glad to call you a friend."

J'Zargo's reply was pleased. "This is good. —But do not tell the others. J'Zargo has a reputation he must protect."

Deanne giggled, trying to smother it so no one heard. "Your secret is safe with me."

He walked around to descend the opposing stair and Deanne made her way to the ramparts. She summoned Fang to guide her to the Archmage's chamber. After all the work today, the extended use of her mind's eye and the concentration necessary to track all the minute aspects of their casting, she was mentally exhausted. It was nice to let Fang handle the navigation.

The moment she opened Archmage Aren's door, Deanne detected a pungent odor that only increased as she came into the chamber proper. She opened her mind's eye briefly to pinpoint where he was before closing it and announcing herself. "Archmage Aren. Mirabelle said I should come see you this evening."

"Ah! Deanne. Splendid." He set aside whatever he was doing and approached. "She told me you and a few others were going down to the shore for research. How did it go?"

Deanne replied, "I suppose that depends. We couldn't get the Waterwalking spell to hold us. But it was very interesting to experiment so much with a spell. And…it was exciting to go outside the College."

"I imagine it was. And you no worse the wear for the excursion. And Waterwalking? My, my, you waste no time, do you? That is a most ambitious undertaking." He twisted and set a hand against her back to urge her forward. "Now then, I'm glad you came by. Do you recall our discussion regarding the chaurus eggs? Specifically, the efficacy of long stored samples."

"Yes, sir. I do." She walked with the Archmage toward the modified planter that contained said egg sacks. "You said you wanted to replace them. Get fresher samples to see if they had different affects."

"Precisely so. Well…here we are!" Deanne was torn between amusement and embarrassment that he seemed to forget she couldn't see. "I sent word out a few weeks ago to the Companions and we received the eggs today. Longer than I would have preferred, but one can hardly consider this task trifling. But, we now have fresh samples! Less than a week out of the nest, I think. I wanted to inform you before our scheduled period so we both had the time to consider how we went about using them."

That was an excellent idea. But something else he'd said caught her attention. "Companions, sir?" That word sparked something…

"Oh yes. The de facto Skyrim mercenary band, based out of Whiterun. Really the best option for the job. I'd rather not have waited for a random adventurer to wander in. Now, I notice a color difference between the new and the old. It's subtle. Mostly concentrated where the eggs attach to the support structure. And the texture of the eggs themselves—"

Deanne meant to listen. This was very relevant information. But…'companions'—

She straightened. She remembered now. Vilkas. He'd called himself that at one point, hadn't he? A companion. Except not a 'companion', but a 'Companion'. At that time she'd assumed that 'companion' was a type of mercenary, someone who specialized as an escort or something similar. But that wasn't right. He was a 'Companion', as in a member of a mercenary group by the same name. It seemed like such a silly thing to mix up now that she heard it from another.

"—I suppose we could counteract that by…Deanne, are you listening to me?"

She jerked in place. "Oh! I'm sorry, sir. My…my mind was elsewhere." This was terribly embarrassing.

Not that he took offence. "I see. You have had a long day. Research can take it out of you, I know. This can all wait. I only wished to share this development with you. But we have a few days before Mirabelle will leave us be long enough to utilize them. Go, rest, recover. I will see you Loredas."

Deanne bowed her head. "Yes, sir." She turned for the door, but halted with the weight of several questions hanging on her heels. "Archmage, when did they deliver the eggs?"

Archmage Aren thought a moment. "It must have been a few hours ago."

Her heart stuttered. "Do…do you remember their names?"

"I'm afraid not, my dear. I'll admit, I was more interested in the eggs themselves. I did not ask."

"Oh…Thank you, sir."

It was a long, long walk back to the Hall of Attainment, Deanne's hand tightly gripped on Fang, her mind awhirl the entire way. Had Vilkas been here? Or passed through, at least? Perhaps. Perhaps not. The beating in her chest was more intense than she was used to. How narrowly had she missed him?

If he'd even been among those who'd answered the Archmage's request at all.

Had he remembered her? Asked about her?

If he was even in the party. He might not have been. In fact, he probably hadn't been. It was unlikely. How many 'Companions' were there? How likely was it that Vilkas would be one of those on this job?

And why would he remember her? She was just someone he'd helped at one point. Nothing but a burden when he'd acted as her guardian. It was probably a time he preferred to forget. So did she. Some things, at least. The fear and the loneliness, yes. But some things she still held close. Her first experience with the ocean. The pride and joy at successfully navigating the Dreamstride and helping to save Dawnstar. Vilkas's care and protection the entire way…Yes, she remembered that. Deanne had told him, hadn't she? Not in person, but when the courier had come. She'd told him to tell Vilkas that she wouldn't forget, that she would always remember how he saved her. And she did. Divines, she remembered. And right now, she was wishing she'd had the chance to tell him as much in person.

Did he remember her? Deanne's whole body cinched tight, wondering.

Her thoughts had failed to settle by the time she entered the Hall. In fact, she was wound tighter than she ever remembered being. What if he had been one of the Companions here today? Had he left the area already to return home? Or was he still down in the town? And if he was… She shook her head, rubbing her face vigorously while keeping a grip on the scruff of Fang's neck.

Fang led her to a doorway. "How was the meeting with the Archmage?"

Deanne froze, startled to hear Brelyna speak. This wasn't her own room…Although, Deanne would appreciate talking to someone just now. She patted Fang's neck. Of course he knew it, and provided it to her.

Her friend noticed her subdued countenance. "Did something happen?"

"N-no…At least…" Deanne walked in and felt around for a chair to sit down in. "Brelyna…would you…I need some advice."

There was a movement of parchment and quill and ink as Brelyna set to give Deanne her full attention. "What about?"

"…Well…I told you how…how I came north. How I came with my brother and we were separated, then how the cart was attacked?"

"Some of it. Why?"

Deanne grabbed a handful of her mantle and began wringing it nervously. "Did…I tell you about the warrior who found me?"

"Um…some. He brought you the rest of the way, right?"

Deanne took a staggered breath. "His name was—is Vilkas. He found me…" She shouldn't say too much about their meeting, or risk revealing Vilkas's secret. "He found me after the attack and he carried me to Winterhold on his back. The whole way. And at the end, he never asked anything of me in return."

"Wow," Brelyna said, shifting to sit more comfortably. "That's very dedicated."

"Yes," Deanne replied, dreamily. "Yes, he was." She remembered how careful he had been with her. How he'd kept his distance when possible to avoid frightening her, and taken the time to let her adjust when he needed to hold and carry her. He'd kept Deanne warm and fed and safe. He'd been kind and considerate, defended and kept her from harm. He'd been willing to stop and help people in need when she asked. And, even when she'd chosen to take a risk he didn't agree with, he'd remained by her side.

Brelyna giggled, bringing Deanne back to herself. "He made a quite an impression on you, didn't he?" She turned mischievous. "So did you two get…'close' while you were traveling?"

Deanne picked up on the implication—which she was proud of—but it made her flush intensely. "No! Well, yes…I think.—But not _that _way!"

Brelyna tittered in response. "Okay, okay, just checking. So what brings this up?"

The ward's fingers cinched tighter around the fur in her hand. "Archmage Aren contacted the Companions about obtaining chaurus eggs. For alchemy."

"Chaurus? Elch! Those are nasty. Companions must have been the only choice for that."

Brelyna knew about the Companions? "Yes." Deanne could have kicked herself. Apparently she _was _the only one in Skyrim who didn't know these things. "Well, they agreed. The Companions delivered the eggs today while we were down at the beach."

Brelyna replied with expectation. "Okay…What does this have to do with your warrior?"

More twisting of the fur. "While we traveled together, Vilkas told me he was a Companion. I didn't know what that was at the time. I only made the connection just now when I was talking to the Archmage." Divines, this suddenly felt so foolish.

Realization bloomed in her companion. "Oh! And your Vilkas was one of those here today?"

"Well…I don't know. I don't know what Vilkas looks like, and the Archmage didn't get any names. He might have been. Maybe. But I don't know." He might have been. But probably not. But what if he was?

Brelyna leaned forward, lowering her voice conspiratorially. "Do you want to go see if he's still in town?"

Deanne stiffened. "I—Well…I was thinking…But, no. No, he's…He's probably busy. Or already left. If he was even there. He probably wasn't. There are a lot of Companions, aren't there? Who's to say he was here at all?"

"Who's to say he wasn't?"

Deanne chewed on her lip, torn in every direction of hope and fear and uncertainty that she knew.

Brelyna, on the other hand, suffered no such division. She leapt to her feet and declared, "Let's go!" She whipped across the room and snatched up a garment to throw round her shoulders.

Deanne argued, "We don't need to. I mean, he might not even be there. We've already spent all day in the cold. And it's getting late. It's dark outside—"

"Deanne! Stop making excuses. Besides, wouldn't it be worth a little chill to reunite with your 'Companion'? Hm?"

More chewing of her lip and twisting of her mantle—she was liable to tear the thing at this rate.

Brelyna exhaled exasperatedly. "You do want to see him again, don't you?"

"Well…yes—"

"Then come _on_! The worst that can happen is he's not there, then we come straight back."

"…Right…Right." The worst thing that could happen was that they wasted a walk to town. Right… Deanne stood up—an impressive feat given how weak her knees had become. As Brelyna hooked their arms together, taking them out the door, Deanne asked, "Should we get the others?"

"No. If J'Zargo would even come, he'd spend the whole time complaining about the cold and his poor wet fur. And Onmund…Trust me, it's better it just be the two of us."

Right. Alright. Just the two of them. Down to the town, see if the Companions were still there and discover if Vilkas was among them. Right. What was the worst that could happen?

XXX

"…I…I changed my mind. Ichangedmymind, let'sgoback!"

There were very few buildings left to make up the town of Winterhold, which was a short walk from where the stone walkway to the College began on the mainland. At least that's what she'd been told. A couple personal houses, the Jarl's longhouse, a general store and the tavern. The tavern was the only option to find visitors. The tavern, outside of which they now stood. And now that they stood on the threshold, the muffled sounds of activity bleeding through the wood to reach her ears…Deanne felt sick. Like she was going to throw up. Or pass out. Her face was flushed, her heartbeat a hammer in her chest. The lifeline of Brelyna's arm was no longer enough to calm her.

Deanne back wheeled, trying to pull the womer with her. "Let's go back. I can't do this!"

Brelyna planted her feet. "Yes, you can. Come on. We came all the way down here. Let's just check."

"I don't want to check! I don't want to know!"

"Yes, you do. Believe me, you do want to know."

"No, I don't. I really don't."

"What if he's in there, right now? He saved your life and you don't want to even take the chance to talk to him?"

"What if he _is_ in there? What would I say? What would I do?" She tried to pry herself out of Brelyna's hands. "I can't do this. I really can't. Let's go back, please. Please!"

Brelyna hummed contemplatively. "You're really nervous, aren't you?"

The tug-of-war slackened as Deanne stopped pulling so hard. "Yes!" She was about ready to cry, truly. Just burst into tears, right here. Oh, Divines, she wasn't ready for this! "Yes, I am. You're my friend. Please, don't make me do this."

"Okay, okay," Brelyna replied softly, sympathetic. The arm they'd been grappling over twisted to the side as the womer came to hug the ward and sooth the tension that wracked her. "It's okay. I understand. It's been…what, months? A year, since you've seen him?" Deanne sniffed and dropped her head onto Brelyna's shoulder, unable to respond. "It's okay. I get it. I get that you're scared of what might happen if he is in there." The hug tightened and the ward went lax, terror bleeding out of her slowly at Brelyna's words and support. "I _am_ your friend…but sometimes, friends push."

Before Deanne could react, the hug turned into a hold, and Brelyna propelled them through the door with more strength than she had a right to have, into the inn.

Protests died on Deanne's lips. As soon as the warm air inside enveloped her, she swallowed all sound and withdrew into herself, shrinking into her mantle and against the friend who now held her hostage in this public gathering place. By all rights they should have been noticed immediately: a tense silence at the rare appearance of new visitors, hostility of the locals against the two for wearing College robes, maybe a catcall for their genders or derision at Brelyna's race. But…no one seemed to take notice. There was conversation. A group gathered mostly toward the room's other side where there was a great deal of talking happening. Wasn't Winterhold a ghost town? Most of the populace had abandoned the city decades ago after the Great Collapse had swallowed most of the city, hadn't they? This place sounded lively. Busy, even.

Brelyna took notice of the level of activity as well and hurried to a seat against the wall to avoid attracting notice. Deanne huddled in her fur, hiding her face, but straining her ears to pick through the voices of those present. She was sure to recognize his voice when she heard it. _If_ she heard it.

Her companion leaned around on her seat, surveying the room and getting a grasp of those present. "Looks like there are visitors. Everyone's over there talking to them. Probably asking for news of the outside world." More observation. "Looks like there are three. All warriors. I'd bet those are the Companions…Do you remember anything about yours?"

It was so strange to have him referred to as though she had claim on him. Deanne picked through details from her memory while trying to track the muddle of conversation on the other side of the room. "Well…he was tall. And could carry me easily. A Nord…I think."

"Okay, so not the Dunmer. Obviously. 'Vilkas' isn't a Dunmer name. There are two Nords over there. Um…One is bald, there's a scar on his face. I don't think his left eye is right."

"Vilkas had hair when I knew him. And…I don't know about his eye." As if she would know. Divines, now she wished she'd asked. It might be him.

"The other one is younger. Shoulder length, brown hair. A little leaner than most Nords. He's drinking a lot."

Maybe? What qualified as 'lean' for a Nord? He could have changed his hair since they'd separated. And just because Vilkas hadn't drunk while the two traveled didn't mean this one wasn't him. How was she supposed to know?

"So what do you think?" Brelyna prompted.

Deanne swallowed. Her throat was all tight and her mouth had gone dry. "I don't know. I haven't heard his voice yet. Can we go now?" She really just wanted to go back to the College. _Before_ anyone noticed them.

"No!" Brelyna hissed. "We can't leave yet." She spent another minute pondering. Then stood up abruptly. "Let's walk over."

"What?! No!"

"Deanne, come on. Think. Do you really want to go back to the College without knowing for sure? Do you really want to spend the next few months wondering if he was here and never being sure one way or another? Really?"

Well…it didn't sound like such a good idea when she said like that.

"…I wouldn't know what to say," Deanne pleaded.

The womer hooked their arms together again and pulled the ward up off the bench. "Don't worry, I'll do all the talking. And think of it this way: what are the chances we'll meet any of these people ever again once we leave?"

Alright, that was a good point. Though it didn't help the whirlpool in her stomach.

Brelyna strode them over in the direction of the inn's activity and Deanne stayed glued to her side, keeping up by way of shuffle. The conversation became more distinct as they drew near, though Deanne was too focused on staying hidden under her mantle to make note of what was being said. That, and clinging to her lifeline while praying that Vilkas was and was not there.

Talk slowed as Brelyna brought the two of them up to the table, their approach drawing the focus. Deanne shrank further under her hood. "Say, might you all be the Companions who delivered at the College today?"

Deanne could feel the tension rise around them. They were College mages in Skyrim. Nords didn't like mages. Or the College. Or magic. Oh, this was a bad idea. They should have changed into something less identifiable before coming down here, at least.

Someone unfamiliar replied in a gruff, Skyrim tinted Imperial accent, "Aye. There a problem?"

Brelyna was far too chipper for this. "Oh, no. Not at all. My friend here is studying alchemy and we just wanted to come down and thank you for your work. Chaurus eggs, right? There must be a story there." The opening was left dangling. Maybe Brelyna was hoping they'd launch into tales of their exploits off the fly.

Instead the mages received a grunt with much the same accent Brelyna sported. "Yeah. It was damp. We were in a cave. And I think there were chaurus crawling around. Wow, what a day."

It seemed fairly clear that the warriors weren't interested in talking. At least not to the mages. But Brelyna would not be deterred. "You're all Companions, right? Would any of you know a 'Vilkas', by any chance?"

Deanne felt the tension in the air increase. The first gruff voice asked warningly, "Who wants to know?"

Brelyna responded—again, in that too chipper tone—, "Well, my friend told me the most incredible story about how this Companion named Vilkas _saved_ _her_ _life_. And when we heard that Companions had made a delivery to the College, we just had to come down and ask. I am just dying to meet the man who saved my friend. Do you know him?"

The atmosphere shifted. Less hostility, but still wary. "You know this girl?" the gruff voice tossed across the table.

Deanne strained her ears in the empty space following the question, tense, expectant, hopeful…

"…Aye…"

Just like that the world muted, his voice taking center stage amongst her senses. At the same time, her heart stuttered, and Deanne's feet grew cold. It was him. It was Vilkas. Not but a few feet away, seated immediately before her…within reach.

All the memories came flooding back to her. Being pressed against his back, his hands linked tight beneath her and her nose pressed into the nape of his neck to shelter her face from the frigid winds. His bulk in the inn's doorway, between her and danger outside. His fingertips on her waist, steadying Deanne's first encounter with the ocean. Him in the form of a beast, curled up in her lap. His mass and heat encircling her at their first meeting. His arms held tightly around her, bearing her through a frenzied emotional break at finding herself entirely alone in the world. His voice, promising her that he would keep her safe and that he would deliver her to a place that would be. His consideration when she'd been stripped of all she knew. His strength before she knew how to be strong herself. His kindness in the face of her need. She remembered. She remembered it all.

…Divines above, what should she do?

Brelyna endured no such indecision. "So you're Vilkas. It's so great to finally meet you. It was such a noble thing to help Deanne like you did. We couldn't be more grateful. The College would be a completely different place without her."

Not a word followed and Deanne's uncertainty turned to fear. And then panic. From that one word…she couldn't tell anything. Was he glad to see her? Embarrassed? He…He did remember her, didn't he? Was he just pretending to avoid embarrassing her, or admitting they were familiar?

The gruff one took up conversation in his place. "Noble. Right. Well, you're welcome. Was there something in particular you wanted? Or did you just come over here to get a name?"

The fact that Vilkas had yet to say another word…

Oh, Gods, they shouldn't have come! Her knees started trembling and her face flushed with embarrassment. Hopefully no one saw with her hood pulled forward, but she wanted out of here. Right now. She shouldn't have come down here. What had she thought was going to happen? Didn't she remember how their parting had gone? Deanne couldn't get a word out without it being choked, so she squeezed Brelyna's arm tighter and gave it a hard tug. She wanted to get out of here. This had been a mistake.

Brelyna either didn't understand the sign for what it was—or chose to ignore it. Probably the latter. "She told me something else: that you didn't accept anything for helping her. That's all well and good, but you _saved her life_. That deserves some sort of reward. Deanne's gotten very good at enchanting. If you want, I'll bet she could enchant something for you. As a 'thank you' for her rescue."

Deanne went rigid, praying to the Divines no one could see her shaking. What was the womer thinking? She jerked on Brelyna's arm, desperate that they leave. Now!

The Dunmer among them grunted and swallowed from his drink. "Free enchanting? I'm in."

"For him. Not you," Brelyna specified. "So how about it?"

The gruff one picked up on Deanne's anxiety. "Shouldn't you be checking if your friend is alright with that?"

"Of course she is," Brelyna declared patting the hands that were in the process of cutting off circulation in her arm. "She's just shy."

He gave an unconvinced grunt. "Well, Vilkas?"

There was no response at first. Then, under the table, there was a dull impact and Vilkas jerked. "—Aye…That'd be alright."

Even with more than a single word from him, Deanne could not tell at all where his mind was. The flush in her face began to sting her eyes. Please! Please, let them leave now!

Thank the Gods, Brelyna judged her sufficiently tortured. "Great! So we'll see you up at the College tomorrow morning. An hour after sunrise. Will that work?" The answering silence must have been accompanied by some sort of non-verbal response. "We'll see you then." Deanne hung onto her arm as Brelyna finally—_finally_—turned them back toward the door and out into the blessed chill and solitude of the outdoors.

Brelyna strolled them down the road toward the College as if everything had gone perfectly well. "See? That wasn't so bad." A ragged sob torn from the confines of the mantle changed her tune and stopped her on a Septim. "Deanne! What is it?"

The ward clapped a hand over her mouth, choking down the anguish that swelled within her, threatening to come rushing out in a torrent. She stopped most of it, but some words slipped through. "…He…he hardly said anything! He…" Gods, why didn't he say anything?!

"Oh, Deanne." Brelyna rubbed her friend's hands vigorously, attempting to draw her back. "He was just a little stunned, that was all. Really."

Deanne shook her head vigorously, trying to deny the sentiment and shake the emotion that clung so tightly to her. No, no, he should have said something. He _would _have said something. If he had been at all pleased to see her or…anything! But he'd spoken a bare handful of words—and not to her at all. What was she supposed to make of that? How was she supposed to interpret that as anything but indifference? Or disinterest? She wished she'd never come down here. Wished she'd never wondered after a reunion. Never sought anything more after the contact they'd had coming north. She should have let it end at the College gates and thought no more about it. About him! She was a mage now. A blind mage! He was a Nord warrior. How could she have thought this would end any way but badly?

The door to the inn burst open, striking the outside wall with the force. "_Deanne_!"

Deanne swallowed the next sob, and froze as Vilkas's shout shattered the air. What now? Gods above, hadn't she endured enough tonight?

Vilkas thundered down off the porch, staggering in the snow at the turn, and rushed towards them on unsteady legs. Before anyone could say a word, he wrapped his arms around Deanne and plucked her off the ground, burrowing his face between her mantle and her neck.

Deanne gasped in surprise. There was a flash of fear accompanied by a memory of grasping hands and lustful voices. But they were chased away by the overwhelming presence before her—around her. Vilkas's scent flooded her nose as he nuzzled in, the rasp of his facial hair tickling her neck. His breathing was deep and staggered—almost like he was scenting her. He smelled strongly of ale, but the rest…Divines, she remembered the smell of him. The security of his closeness. Though her feet dangled off the ground, his arms were so all encompassing that she didn't fear to fall. All the affection she'd hoped—and feared to hope—that he might express. Deanne curled into it, wrapping what she could of her arms around him in return.

They stood like that for some time. Vilkas came back to himself slowly. He loosened his hold and lowered her to the ground, though his arms lingered around her shoulders. He seemed as startled by the sudden display as she was. "…I…uh…Until tomorrow?"

"Y-yes…Until tomorrow." Did she imagine the reluctance with which he released her? Divines, she prayed not.

"Right."

He didn't move. Neither did she. It was a moment in time that neither of them quite wanted to end. Even as it was growing awkwardly long.

Brelyna, once again, came to the rescue. She slipped an arm around Deanne's shoulders and urged her back to the path toward the College. Once out of earshot, the womer whispered gleefully, "See? I told you he just needed a minute."

Deanne was floating on a cloud. She didn't register a single step all the way back to the Hall of Attainment and her own chamber. He…he'd been glad to see her. _Wanted _to see her. Oh, thank the Eight. And he was going to come see her tomorrow as well. He was going to—

The world descended like a ton of rock. He was coming to see her tomorrow! Her terror and tremors—absent tears, this time—returned in force. What was she going to do?!

**How fantastic is Brelyna as wing-mer? It's been a lot of fun building her up from the tidbits you get in game. And yay, Vilkas is here! Properly and so forth. Was it all you imagined it would be? Well, there's more coming. So prepare for another hunky serving next update.**


	30. Second Impression

**I meant to wait. I really did. I meant to wait, like a week, between updates so that I could make some headway on the next chapter and keep the updates timeframe fairly consistent. But SCREW IT! The chapter is done and I need to share. I must, must, MUST!**

**So, thank you, to those of you who complained about the absence and demanded the return of our hunky Nordic Companion. Ro-Yolos-Briin, Audsoll, TheGreatJabberyJaime, I'm lookin' at you (with a diabolical grin, no less). And, of course, my fantabuous beta, Breather. **

**Language warning (does the F-bomb demand a story-adjustment to M-rating? I'm not sure. Let me know. Otherwise, I'll just assume you all have a sufficient level of maturity to handle it.) *Squeak* Are you excited? I'm excited. Read! Go, go, go!**

The winds were more intense up here than anything Whiterun got. Frigid, biting, blinding. The only folk who had it worse were the sods in Windhelm. Maybe. How the mages could handle being suspended out here in a constant maelstrom of snow, he couldn't guess.

Of course that immediately brought up another concern: how did Deanne take it? Heartlander that she was, this was the worst possible weather for her to be in. She'd been all wrapped up last night; even inside, he could barely see her face. Just a shadowed chin underneath. Vilkas picked through what he remembered. He hadn't smelled any sickness on her, and she hadn't felt underfed. At least he didn't think she had. He'd been pretty drunk and still in armor and…distracted.

…That sweet sent in his nose—a real scent; not a ghostly trace that made him twitch to look at nothing. He'd gotten an honest-to-Shor breath of her and, _damn_, she smelled good. Better than good! Wished he hadn't had so much ale. It had tainted the experience, slurred his memory and muddled his senses. Today was gonna be different. Today he'd get another shot. Another chance to reconnect. He'd stand out here all fuckin' day for that.

The sound of a closing door summoned his attention. Vilkas stood up off the guard wall to get a better look toward the sound in the courtyard. Deanne was walking toward the gate, wrapped up in the same fur as last night. A sense of masculine satisfaction filled him. That was _his _fur. The one he'd sent her. Something he might have registered last night if he hadn't been so deep in his cups. But damn, it was gratifying to see her wearing it. The fight with that snowy saber cat was something that stuck with him. Tracking down the right cat with the right markings, days on the hunt, and finally bringing the beast down with his bare hands. No weapon, no transformation. Just him and his strength and skill. But his female wearing the spoils topped it all, making him purr with—

Fuck! Shit—damn it! Vilkas yanked himself back from the gate and over the guard wall, taking an icy blast to the face. No, that was not him! He wasn't his beast. He wasn't an animal! The cold was cleansing, but didn't fix the problem. The beast in him was still there, stirring in his blood, a voice in his head, always looking for the chance to slip its chains and get loose. But not today. He'd gone through a lot of grief to get this far, to deny the thing that lived inside him. Vilkas was not going to let it get the best of him today. Not around her. Not again. Not a chance.

He turned when Deanne came into sight out of the corner of his eye within the narrow gated opening. She was anxious, worrying at his—_her _fur with both hands. She turned toward the gate at the very center of the walkway, paused—then stiffened. Before he could announce himself, she hurried forward. "I'm sorry! I didn't—I didn't keep you waiting long, did I?" How had she known he was there?

There was something to the gate; it didn't give way to anyone but the mages. He'd tried it. Deanne pushed it open without difficulty, and Vilkas took the weight to close it behind him. "No. I was up early."

Within the confines of the College, the air was calmer. No winds to scatter sound and smell. Vilkas breathed deep. There it was. Without the sour ale in the back of his throat, she smelled even better. Like mountain flowers and elves ear and frost mirriam, and the unique tang of magic. Like hearth and home and…he calmed. Just like last night. One breath of her scent and he felt at ease. Even the beast in his blood was quieted, which was a damned miracle. He wanted to get up close and set his face against her skin, and stay there. Except—dammit!

Vilkas shook himself and shifted from one foot to the other, reaching up to grasp the back of his neck. "I—uh…I want to apologize. For last night. I shouldn't have grabbed you. Like that. After what you went through before…I remember, but I wasn't thinking. I was pretty drunk—But that's not an excuse. I shouldn't have…" Shit! "What I mean to say is I'm sorry. It won't happen again, I swear."

"…Oh." Not what she was expecting? "It's alright. I forgive you."

They stood there, in silence. Deanne continued to twist the fur and Vilkas breathed that of her scent he could catch while resisting the urge to step any further into her space. Her anxiety was acrid in the back of his throat and it bothered him that he didn't know how to fix it.

Damn, he wished he could see her face. She had the hood drawn far forward and her head tilted down, their respective statures denied him a glimpse of anything above her chin. It felt deliberate. Like she was hiding from him. Why?

Deanne cleared her throat. "So…I was going to enchant something for you. Yes?"

Right, that had been mentioned. "Only if you want to. I know your friend was the one who said it—"

"No, no," she rushed to interrupt. "It's fine. I…I do want to." Her head lifted, the lip of her hood rising to reveal her lips. Vilkas stared at them as they shaped her words. "I owe you my life, Vilkas. I've never forgotten that. And," Deanne twisted the fur more tightly, "whatever little I can do to repay you, I want to. And enchanting something for you is certainly the least I could do to repay what you gave me. So…if you have what you would like enchanted…"

"Aye." He could pick something, as long as he didn't have to leave.

She froze and purposefully dropped the fur she'd been twisting and clasped her hands in front of her. "Then...if you would follow me?"

Vilkas nodded—then could have kicked himself. She couldn't see that kind of thing! "Aye."

Before Deanne took a step forward he was by her side, his forearm beneath her palms like he'd done before to provide her guidance when they'd been traveling. She was surprised, but did not draw away. Although, as it turned out, she was the one guiding him. She walked them the circumference of the College, turning at a precise point to meet a door. He leapt to open it for her—another act she did not refuse. Once inside, Vilkas found himself brought across the hall, up a flight of stairs and into an alcove designed for enchanting, and all without a single misstep. She knew her way in this place. It swelled him with pride to see her so self-sufficient and certain.

Deanne did not forget their purpose. "So, what did you wish to have enchanted?"

The question snapped him back to reality. "Uh…How about my armor?"

"I can enchant one piece. I only have one soul gem, so…"

"My chest piece, then."

She turned, walked precisely to the table's edge and set her hand upon it. "Would you place it here, please?"

"Oh. Right." Where was his head right now? Well, he knew where it was tending towards, but probably best not to tell her that.

Vilkas pulled at the straps of his armor, loosening and removing the whole thing, leaving his northern doublet on. The cuirass was heavy Skyforge steel, recently replaced by Eorlund Gray-mane. Good thing, too, because after this, the cuirass was going to be nigh irreplaceable.

"W-what would you like it enchanted for?" she asked.

He shrugged—and cursed himself. "Whatever you think is best." He hadn't the faintest idea what to ask for. And frankly, he could care less what he got so long as he could be here for a while. What enchantment took the longest to make?

From her pocket, Deanne pulled out a large, multi-faceted soul gem. Either a Greater or a Grand, but he wasn't sure which. A big one, housing an internal light, which she placed before her on the table. Vilkas backed off when he saw her shifting uneasily and tilting her head to track him. She probably wasn't used to having people watch her when she worked. Vilkas backed all the way out of the alcove to lean on the guard rail around the upper level's balcony, well out of her personal space. A very respectful distance. If only he could keep from staring.

Her clothing was made for the north. Thick and warm. And with the mantle on, her figure was barely discernible. Made him want to lay his hands on her again, to feel her shape beneath the garments. But he stayed put. He was _not_ going there. His beast might be calm now, but Vilkas didn't trust the possum routine for an instant.

The only thing that wasn't concealed by cloth were her hands. Delicate, graceful, dancing through the air as Deanne worked her magics. She was slow to begin, hesitant with the audience. But once she got going, the movement of her hands had him entranced. Back and forth, arcing and twisting in a slow dance that he couldn't tear his eyes from. Once in a while he saw a shimmer in the air, evidence of the magic she was weaving. Time lost meaning as Vilkas watched her caress and fold what only she could see.

He was disappointed when she stopped, resuming her withdrawn posture as she turned to face him. "It's done."

"Oh." Vilkas tried not to sound too downhearted she was finished already.

Unsuccessfully, because she rushed to assure him, "It will fortify your healing and stamina now. Support what your body already does. Not change anything, just make it easier. More efficient. It should serve you well—"

"—I know. I don't doubt it." Damn, he'd said it wrong. "I'm not complaining. It's…" Vilkas dared to step back into the alcove, paying close attention to her reaction. Her anxiety was mounting. Shit, he was still getting it wrong. "The enchantment's well done, I'm sure." He reached out to brush his fingertips over the cuirass, feeling the cling of magic to the surface. He looked at her, eyes fixing on the lips he could just make out beneath her hood. His brain stopped…but his mouth didn't. "Well done. But it's _done_. And I don't want to leave yet."

Deanne bit her bottom lip and he went stiff below the belt. Damn, she was too sweet. He could eat her alive.

Vilkas ground down as his beast surfaced. Damn it, not now!

Deanne struggled even as he did. "Well…I suppose I could show you around the College. Except—I'm not sure what the policy is for visitors. I didn't check. I didn't think you would…"

"S'alright." The animal in him subsided, still too close for comfort. But, then again, when was the last time he'd been comfortable with it?

"...There is somewhere. It's…it's not really…It's more personal than…"

With his beast in check, Vilkas had the nerve to step up and slip two fingers under her wrist and into her palm, connecting them physically and giving her something other than her fur to hold onto. Personal sounded good. Really good. "I'd love to see it." She'd frozen at the contact and he worried he'd gone too far. Then, slowly, Deanne flexed her hand, dropping the fur and closing her fingers tightly around his digits. Vilkas could feel her pulse against his palm. It was hectic, not unlike his own. But for what reason? Her anxiety was so strong it almost stung his nose.

Deanne swallowed, squeezing his fingers tightly. "I-it's this way."

She guided him again. Back to the stairway and up. They came out on top of the College walls.

Damn, they were high up. Sure, he knew the College was perched just by looking down from the pathway up to the place. But up here was higher still. How did they sleep at night? Looked like a proper gust of wind could come up and topple the whole place over like shoddy scaffolding. Preposterous, obviously. Logically. But it was hard to tell his logical mind that kind of thing while seeing the world from so high up without seeing what connected _them_ to _it_. Just how far down was—Nope! He wasn't going there! Vilkas wasn't afraid of heights, strictly speaking. But the exact distance from the rampart to the ground was something he didn't need to see. Deanne had no trouble, obviously. Her hand slipped properly into his at one point and made it easier for him to focus on their procession along the wall.

They ended up at the back of the College, on the ramparts behind the main building, looking out over the ocean. Deanne released his hand—Vilkas experienced another bout of disappointment that he held in check—and she leaned on the guard rail, gazing out as though she could see what lay before her. "I like coming up here. It's the only place in the College where I can hear the ocean clearly."

Vilkas pealed his ears, picking up the sound of crashing waves far below them. He couldn't help but remember—

"Do you remember—in Dawnstar—when you took me down to the beach?" Deanne asked, hopefully.

Vilkas swallowed. "Aye."

Her hand returned to the fur, closing tightly around it. "I…I always find myself remembering that when I'm up here. And I'm told it's an impressive view."

"Aye," he repeated.

They stood in silence for a while. The rush of wind off the sea and the crash of waves far below was ever present. The coast sprawled far to the east and west and the ocean stretched out in front of them, although there was a layer of thick cloud cover that obscured the horizon. They could have been standing on top of the world. Not that that had his focus.

Deanne was cold. The wind off the ocean tore in, buffeting them and tugging at the edges of Deanne's mantle. She held it tightly, insulated against the weather she was resolved to endure. But any weather would sneak through the layers given time. Would it be too much to step forward and offer his body heat? Strictly platonic. The sound of the ocean was why she came up here. If he could help make her vigil more tolerable, he would.

…And it would be nice to feel her against him.

Deanne's posture shifted, tightening and withdrawing, like she'd read his mind. His musings ceased immediately and he turned bodily to face her. "Deanne? What is it?"

She stiffened further, perhaps surprised he'd picked up on the change. "I-I'm sorry." She swept a hand up under her hood. "This must be terribly boring for you. I keep trying to think of something I could…instead of…but I don't know!" Deanne sniffed firmly and reached up to wipe away tears he couldn't see.

Vilkas stepped up and caught her hand when it dropped, hating the emotions his presence had driven her to. "Hey, hey, s'alright. I've just spent the last week in and out of a chaurus den. Calm is a fine thing. A fine thing."

He held her hand in his, stroking it reassuringly. It was so small, dwarfed by the two of his. Her skin was smooth, if a little dry. No scars or callouses. Evidence of a life without hardship. Physical hardship, at least. Should have been _all_ hardship. Vilkas's jaw tensed briefly, wishing he could have fixed that for her. By curious impulse, he lifted her palm and pressed it against his cheek. It felt nice. Her fingers curled a little against his jaw. The tautness of her arm's reach demanded they come a half step closer. Vilkas sighed, calming all over again. His lids lowered and he rubbed his cheek against her hand. Felt nice.

"…Vilkas…" She didn't sound all there herself.

"S'alright. We don't have to do anything. I just don't want to leave yet. Want to stay with you a little while." His impulses were bypassing his sensibilities again, and streamlining straight to his mouth. But her palm on his cheek felt so nice, he didn't fight it.

And it wasn't just him. Her breathing deepened. Her arm was limp. The tension in her body was gone. That was good. She was feeling better. He was doing good.

Vilkas's eyes searched for her features and came up short again. "Why do you wear your hood like that?"

With her other hand, Deanne adjusted the edges where they flapped in the wind. "It's cold."

He shook his head, still holding her hand to his cheek, but lightly enough she could slip free if she wished. "Except you wore it like that inside. And last night. Why?" He had yet to see her face since their reunion. Was she hiding from him? Holding up this barrier between them on purpose?

She tugged on the mantle, self-consciously. "Well…most people can forget that I'm…," she motioned awkwardly to her face, "…if they can't see me not seeing them. If it's not obvious, they forget, and treat me like I'm a normal person. It's…easier."

"Well, I haven't forgotten. I don't treat you different, do I?"

"No…You haven't."

"Well then, could I see your face?"

She hesitated. Vilkas let her take back her hand and she clutch her mantle with both. For a minute, he thought she would refuse. Then, slowly, she lifted the material draped around her head, pushing it back a little at a time and resettling it to where the edge only just drooped over her forehead. Vilkas reached out and tucked it back further, such that she was fully revealed.

Shor's bones, she was lovely. Tendrils of her acorn hair escaped as the wind tried unsuccessfully to lay claim to them, flitting around her heart-shaped face. His eyes wandered her features: her cheeks were bright pink, long lashes framed cloudy gray eyes angled unseeing in his direction, her sweet button nose, now red as a snowberry from the cold. And her lips, full and pressed tightly together, that he…was going to think a lot about. Later.

Right now— "Deanne, I…" He swallowed hard, concerned about frightening her. "I would ask a favor of you."

"Yes?"

Vilkas licked his lips. "Would you…let me hold you?" She stiffened up again and he rushed to soften the blow. "Only for a little while. You're cold out here, the wind is dogged and…Honestly, it's difficult to think about much else. Only say the word and I'll not touch you, but…I'd really like to hold you right now."

He gave her the time to think it through. Deanne fiddled with the fur, likely resisting the urge to pull it forward and hide away again. He caught the flick of her tongue out over her lips. The act did not at all help with his intension that this gesture be purely amicable.

After a few false starts, she replied, her voice barely carrying over the weather, "I would…like that. Just…slowly?"

"Aye. Slowly." He edged nearer, his chest at once swelled and constricted. Slowly. Slowly was good. Vilkas reached out to her, touching her elbow first—she jumped. He gave her a few seconds and gingerly slid his arms around her, bringing the two of them together.

Without armor on, he felt her body against his. Stiff at first; he'd never begrudge her that. But then, Deanne's hands crept up between them, finding handholds in his shirt. She relaxed, just a little. Her head fell forward, resting against his chest, and with each breath she molded further against him. It was more intimate than any lover he'd taken in his life, and he found himself melting on the inside.

The Winterhold weather continued to bluster. Vilkas turned them, putting himself before the brunt of the wind and further encircled her to fend off the elements. "You alright?"

She exhaled—he could feel the heat of her breath reach through to his skin—, "Yes. I know it's you."

Vilkas felt his chest swell again. It felt like he'd just vaulted over whatever had been lurking between them until now. He submerged himself in the moment, laying his cheek upon the crown of her head, calm and content. "I missed you, Deanne."

Deanne froze. "Even though…Even though I'm a mage…now."

He tugged himself far enough out of his reverie to ask, "Why would that matter?"

This time, her nervous fingers fiddled with his shirt. "Well…don't most Nords not like magic? Or mages?"

"You think I'm like most Nords?" he teased.

"Well, I…I don't know. I…" He smelled her tear up, like bright ocean spray stinging his nose even before the tears fell. "I was afraid you might dislike me. Now that I'm a real mage. I thought…" He sensed her sadness rise to overwhelm her.

Vilkas shifted them some, leaning against the guard wall and fitting her between his legs so that he could pull her closer and nest his head down against her ear. "I was under no illusion what would happen when you came here. Rather assumed you'd learn magic eventually. No, little one, I don't mind it. I've nothing against spell casters. You don't need to worry about that."

She sobbed once, and then surged up to wrap her arms tightly around his neck. "I was so afraid—I'd changed—too much. That—you wouldn't like—what I was now."

They'd certainly surmounted the awkwardness, the fears she'd been hiding and worrying over tumbling out into the open where he could catch them. Catch her. She needed his strength now and he gave it readily. "No need to worry on that. You haven't changed at all."

She nodded against his neck. "I have. I swear, I—"

"No, you haven't. Trust me, little one. I don't doubt you've learned things. But changed? No." He nuzzled into where he'd been last night: the space under her mantle, where her scent was strong. "Trust me; you're as I remember."

Deanne didn't respond immediately. "I don't think I like that."

"Why not?" Vilkas was only half paying attention. Her scent had his head abuzz. He nestled under the edge of her mantle, finding the skin of her neck too enticing not to pursue.

"I-I was afraid to do anything before," she replied, somewhat halted by staggered breaths. "I-I'm not. Anymore."

"Mmm," he hummed, brushing his lips against the bare skin he found above her collar. "You braved a Daedra in Dawnstar. Silver Hand. Me at my worst. More than most could say. You're still kind. Still sweet. Still curious." Her scent bloomed. Vilkas held her tighter to him and moaned. "Damn, you smell _good_." He set his nose in tight and inhaled, his brain misfiring as her perfume condensed on the back of his tongue. The tightness of his trousers was an afterthought. He shifted his hips to adjust, but didn't raise his head.

"V-Vilkas?" Her voice was breathy and wanting, stroking his eardrums like silk.

He dimly registered the words coming out of his mouth. "Only…say the word…" She smelled so good. He lathed his tongue across her jugular, feeling the erratic pulse beneath and taking some of that sweet scent straight into his mouth. She whimpered, turning his blood to fire. "Deanne…" He could barely think anymore. Instinct drove him. His hips rocked into her. Vilkas clenched his teeth and then dug their flats into her skin, seeking a sweet spot on her neck where it was safe to bite down. Deanne arced against him, releasing a wanting wail right into his ear as he—

Shit! Shit—Fuck—DAMN IT!

Vilkas clapped his hands on Deanne's shoulders and shoved her away, out to arm's length, heaving and shaking like he'd just sprinted a dozen miles.

Shit! "I-I'm sorry! I—" _Shit_! "I'm sorry."

Deanne swayed, dependent on his grasp to steady her as she came back to herself more slowly than he. "I…That…"

Her mantle was well open on one side, her collar clumsily folded down where he'd— Vilkas swallowed hard, horrified at what he'd almost done. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" He reached out, resettling both her collar and her mantle, rewrapping it all to conceal what he'd been seeking. Shit! "I think it best if we—call it a day."

Deanne stayed still under the fussing until he'd finished, not fully aware of what had happened. "D-did I do something wrong?"

"No!" Vilkas insisted. "No, you didn't…" Shit! Vilkas released her and stood up off the wall to pace in a tight circle to the side. She held herself stiffly, despondent. He could practically hear what was going on in her head: that she'd done wrong and he wished to leave because of it. She didn't know. Didn't understand. He couldn't leave her like that! Vilkas growled, struggling with what to say. "You remember what I am, don't you? You can't have forgotten that!"

She clutched at the loose end of the fur, nervous but not cowed by the reminder. "Yes. I remember."

She remembered. Of course, she remembered; how could she forget? "Then you…" He growled and paced around again, wrangling the maelstrom in his brain, the incendiary hormones flooding his system, the damned beast now awake in his blood and demanding a release. He whirled around to face her. "Deanne, you need to understand something. I…" He mired midsentence, and cursed. Why was this suddenly so hard to talk about? It was an accomplishment! Wasn't it? Vilkas growled again and slumped down on the guard wall again. "Deanne. You know what I am. You know that I have this…thing inside me."

"Yes." It was said expectantly.

Expectantly? Wasn't that enough? He expected some kind of reaction. And could have kicked himself! She didn't understand. Why would she? Had he spoken with her at all about what he was? _Exactly _what he was? Had he bothered? Shor's bones, he'd been that monster twice around her and not honored her with any sort of explanation. And after what he'd just pulled, she sure as Oblivion deserved one. "I haven't…_changed_…since that last time with you."

"…Okay." More expectation. Shit!

He could barely think with his Blood up like this. Vilkas ground his teeth, fighting the frustration that more often plagued him nowadays. Usually he went out to the training yard and smacked around some whelps or practice dummies. No such outlet here.

Deanne approached slowly, coming to lean beside him on the guard wall. She reached out and he watched her feel around for his hand. The way she curled hers around his when they touched…Vilkas latched on to that. It helped. That little contact and Vilkas found himself calming in the face of his frothing Blood. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles until he could speak again. "The beast in me…isn't me. I wasn't born with it. It was something given to me when…" Vilkas hesitated to reveal too much to her. This wasn't her problem. It was a Circle problem. And they weren't even really fixing it the way they ought to.

He shoved that aside. "I received the beast willingly. I took it into myself, not understanding the consequences. I thought it would make me stronger. Faster. Better."

"And did it?"

"In a way. It augments me. I trade on the hunter's instincts of the beast: strength and speed, heightened senses, better reflexes. But I didn't realize what I traded away. When I stopped transforming…" Vilkas turned, squeezing her hand between his ardently. "Deanne, I hated that I'd frightened you. Hated that, when I'd been the beast, that I could have hurt you."

"But you didn't—"

"But I could have! You, an innocent. I had no control over myself. The beast did. It could have killed you. _I_ could have killed you. And there would have been no way to stop it." He squeezed her hand, needing another long silence to get himself back together. "I realized how dangerous I really was when that thing had free reign. I realized…and I haven't allowed myself to transform since." As if that weren't enough, the Harbinger had chosen that conversation to reveal some other key information he'd discovered about their beast blood and its Daedric ties. But there was no reason to burden Deanne with that now.

"Is it difficult?"

Vilkas hesitated, but continued, "Yes. It used to be that the beast and I acted as one. I let it. Now that I've chosen to deny it… I know my own mind again. I can differentiate between my own thoughts and those of the beast. I realize how far I fell." His jaw stiffened. "But it doesn't make the beast any quieter. It's a voice, a need, constant in the back of my head. Always awake, always demanding a release, wanting out. It wants to hunt, to kill, to—" He cut himself off. No point scaring her further. "As Kodlak says: it is our burden to bear. I say this because, just now…being that close to you…got my Blood up. Brought the beast closer to the surface than I realized. It was nothing you did. But it's best there be some distance so I can…calm down. I won't hurt you. I swear that."

Her little hand found purchase in his and squeezed reassuringly. "I know."

No hesitation or uncertainty. Vilkas was torn between amusement and disbelief. His head dipped. "You still trust too easy, little one."

Deanne's lips lifted. "Where would I be if I hadn't trusted you?"

Vilkas actually found himself chuckling. "Point taken."

They stayed there, suspended in the precious moment.

At least until a shiver ran through her. Vilkas stood up quickly. "Let's get you down from here."

Deanne allowed herself to be guided back the way they'd come. Vilkas thought he still remembered the way back. She probably did, but still let him lead. Vilkas got them into the building where she'd enchanted his armor. It was still lying there and he put it on, feeling more secure with the cold steel cage holding him in. The way to the entrance was easier. Only one door on the first floor to choose, so…

They approached the front gate and Deanne's steps became lethargic. "So, you're leaving, then."

He nodded—then said aloud, "Aye. It's safer."

She deflated but made the effort draw herself up. "Well…thank you for coming. I was—am very glad to…see you, again."

"I feel the same." Even if he'd almost dropped his guard and taken a bite out of her. Something to be watched so as not to repeat. A readjustment that could be accomplished by tonight. Hopefully. Which begged the question, "Can I come see you tomorrow?"

Deanne started. "Tomorrow? I thought you were leaving."

"The College. Right now. But I'll be in Winterhold a while longer. If I came up here again tomorrow, could I see you?"

Her face split open in a gorgeous, beaming smile. "Yes. Yes, I…I have alchemy in the morning. But, midday? What will you be doing then?"

Vilkas grinned back. "Waiting at the front gate for you."

Her smile widened. "I look forward to it."

"Me, too." He couldn't resist it. The Companion took her hand and rubbed his cheek against her palm again. It felt inexplicably soothing.

"Will you be alright?" Deanne asked. "With your 'Blood', I mean."

"By tomorrow, yes." He'd make sure. Whatever it took. He wouldn't let his beast endanger her again.

XXX

Deanne joined her friends in the study alcove of the Arcanaeum where they had taken to studying. When Onmund and J'Zargo were wrapped up in a debate, Brelyna leaned over and whispered, "So? How did it go?"

The ward's blush stayed hidden beneath her mantle, wrapped as Vilkas had left it. Her skin still tingled where he'd placed his lips. "It was…good."

"That's all I get? 'Good'?" Brelyna hissed, only half joking.

"He's coming back tomorrow," Deanne offered.

Brelyna squeaked. "That's my girl!"

The debate across the table paused. "What was that?" Onmund inquired.

"Nothing," Brelyna snapped. "Get back to work."

***shriek!* Vilkas is BACK! Do you feel joy? I feel joy! There are times when you just love what you've written. And this is one for me!**


	31. Spoken Word

**Hehe! I love the positive feedback for Vilkas. Many thanks.**

The next day, Vilkas was waiting just as he said he would be. Deanne felt her heart leap and, again, hurried to open the gate for him. "I didn't keep you waiting long, did I?"

She could hear the smile in his voice when he replied, entering and closing the gate behind him. "No. I was up early."

Almost a precise replica of yesterday. Only this time her stomach was knotted for entirely different reasons. And she couldn't keep from smiling.

Deanne cleared her throat. "Are you feeling better today? With your Blood, I mean."

"Aye. Better. How was your morning? Alchemy, right?"

"Yes." He remembered. "Good. It was good. No actual potion making. The Archmage and I spent most of the time replacing the old chaurus eggs with the new. We'll likely get to the potion making tomorrow."

"You study with the Archmage?" His turn to be surprised. She felt pleased for managing that.

"Yes. He and I are the only ones who study alchemy here at the College. It's not precisely a school of magic, after all. I don't think many here put much value in the craft, even if they do use the potions we make."

"Hm." She'd impressed him. That felt interesting, too. "And, if I may ask, what will you do with the Chaurus eggs? We've never had a call for them at Jorrvaskr before. I'm curious."

She wasn't used to anyone but the Archmage expressing interest in her alchemy before, except to request a specific potion. "Well, they have several effects. One is invisibility. But Archmage Aren wants to look into how the age of the egg sacks would alter their chemistry. We still have several egg sacks from the last time he got chaurus eggs. They've been stored for a long while. Kept moist, but still aging…Do you really want to hear about this?"

"Aye," Vilkas assured her. "I wouldn't ask if I didn't. Tell me. Unless you'd rather talk of something else."

She reached up to tuck her hair behind her ears—remembered—and pushed her hood back from her face. "Well, I meant to show you around the College. I asked. And…it won't be all of it, but I can show you some. If you want."

The offer pleased him. "I'd love to see it. And you can tell me of your work as we go, yes?"

"Y-yes." She beamed back at him. "Then—um—just this way."

He came to her side, like yesterday, and slipped his forearm beneath her hand, like yesterday, and they started off toward the Hall of Elements. Part way, Deanne had a sudden surge of boldness and slid her hand forward, under and into his, swiftly followed by a surge of fear that she'd gone too far. That fear was dispelled quickly when Vilkas tilted his hand at the wrist and twined their fingers. Her stomach flipped and her smile grew wider.

They walked the College corridors together, talking. Deanne relayed what the Archmage had told her about the chaurus eggs and what they had done with them today. She was afraid the subject too dull for him, at least until Vilkas began asking pointed questions and for explanations. Not only was he listening, but he was interested and understood when she explained the distilling and storage processes, and how different treatments would bring out different aspects of the eggs, and the need to sustain a proper moisture and chemical environment to store them.

The conversation was by no means one-sided. She matched his curiosity with her own, beginning with how he'd attained the eggs. Vilkas proceeded to regale her with the tale, going into details about the mazelike chaurus den and the habits he'd picked up while observing the creatures. It had been a daring expedition. Deanne was so glad none of them had been hurt. When he described the queen chaurus, she almost felt like she had been there, terrified for his life, even though the danger was well over. He followed that story up with another from a previous job, speaking of his fellow companions both in the field and at home. Deanne responded with a few of her own, telling him about her friends and the instructors here. He asked about the things she'd learned. She asked about the places he'd been.

She lost track of where they were once in a while. They didn't end up anywhere forbidden, but once in a while she needed to open her mind's eye to reassess their location. She was just more focused on the man beside her than where they were going.

She'd never felt like this before. Walking beside him, his hand in hers, she felt light. Like she was floating rather than walking. Her whole being felt effervescent, this wonderful combination of safe and relaxed and happy that she'd never before experienced. She was tempted to take him back out to the wall behind the College. Maybe…maybe they would end up like they'd been yesterday. He'd made her feel…Divines, she didn't have words for it. Wanted? Wanting? That was part of how she'd felt, but not all of it. She liked having his arms around her, liked having him so close. Especially his mouth. When he'd touched her—when he'd set his lips against her—

But she couldn't. That had 'gotten his Blood up', which wasn't good because then he'd had to leave. And she very much did not want him to leave. As much as Deanne wanted him to touch her again like he had yesterday, if given the choice, she would rather he stay and talk with her. Mostly, she just wanted him _here_, for as long as he would stay.

A rare set of footsteps approached. Deanne opened her 'eye' briefly to identify them—and then cringed into Vilkas, who stopped his narrative. "Deanne?" Concern swiftly gave way to wary aggression as he identified the source of her discomfort and shifting his elbow in front of her so she could tuck behind, into the nook.

Deanne had learned Ancano's magicka signature quickly, and used her 'sight' to avoid it—and him—at every opportunity. It was a cruel, bright sort of yellow, with a brilliance meant more to blind than illuminate, the edges always grasping and seeking, jagged as it jealously guarded what it gained. She didn't like it. Not at all. Didn't even like being near it. Not to mention he'd promised to…'observe' her. Deanne had managed not to be alone with this mer since the night he'd sought to intimidate her in her own chamber. There was always a magister or an apprentice around. Now, without another magic user around and him striding ever nearer, she felt terribly vulnerable, even with Vilkas there. Strong as he was, what could he do against a Thalmor mage?

As if that weren't enough, it seemed Ancano had been looking for them. "You there." Vilkas tensed and slowed them to a stop, leaving the Thalmor cross the entirety of the remaining distance to reach them. "I do not know you. State your name and your purpose here."

Vilkas's voice was like granite. "And just why do you need to know that?"

Ancano sharpened. "I am advisor to the Archmage. And you are a stranger to these halls. And no mage. _That_ is why. Now you will tell me what I wish to know or I have the authority to evict you from the premises."

Deanne wasn't so sure that he did. No one had ever talked about throwing people out of the College. Some apprentices had been asked to leave before her time here, but it didn't sound like force had ever been applied. Although, perhaps the threat of force was enough with magisters like Faralda and Mirabelle among the staff. What she couldn't understand was why Ancano seemed so antagonistic.

Vilkas grunted, but responded, "I'm here to visit Deanne. Is that a problem?" As if to iterate the fact, he hooked his elbow a little further in front of her.

Only then did Ancano take note of her, sneering, "Is that so?"

Deanne cleared her throat, loosening the sudden tightness fear had instilled. "Yes, it is. I'm showing him around the College. I spoke with Archmage Aren. He said it was alright."

Ancano sniffed, turning suspicious with the same arrogant cruel tone he'd used in her chambers. "I am to believe then that the Archmage gave permission for a strange _Nord_ to enter the College without prior authorization, and then trusted his oversight to the College's _blind _ward?"

Deanne held Vilkas's hand tighter, barely squeaking out, "You could ask him, if you wish—"

He hissed a breath, bristling, "You _would_ cite such a referral."

Vilkas angled in front of her and barked, "Hey! Back off. You got your answer, now step away."

The air charged with aggression and magic as the two faced off. Deanne held on tightly to Vilkas. She didn't know if he would really fight Ancano, nor did she know if he could win such a match. But she did know she did not want to chance him getting hurt for her. She couldn't bear it. Not at all.

At last, Ancano drew himself up, cold and detached. "It is no matter. I have ways of learning your purpose. Do not doubt that I shall. Or that your activities will be monitored. I will suffer no threat to—the College." Deanne got the impression the last two words were not what he'd intended to say.

Regardless, she secured her grasp and tugged Vilkas away from the Thalmor to continue on their way. Vilkas resisted her urging, keeping between her and the Thalmor as they moved. Then he shook her hand loose and wrapped his arm around her waist, propelling her away from the mer.

It was a quiet several minutes they spent reaching the next stairway. When they were 'safely' on the next floor, Vilkas stated flatly, "I think I hate him."

Deanne felt she should be a little aghast of the flat use of the word 'hate' in regards to someone he'd just met…except that she understood the sentiment, even after months around the mer. Instead, she curled into Vilkas's protective embrace. "I don't think anyone likes him."

Vilkas grunted an affirmative. "He do that often?" She raised her head in question. "Pick fights like that? He was just begging me to hit him."

Deanne set her head against his side again. "He's always that way. I don't know if he does it on purpose, though."

Another grunt. "He do that to you?"

Deanne hesitated, not wishing even recalling those few moments Ancano had spent looming over her when she'd been alone.

Vilkas stopped them flat, then turned to grip her shoulders, doubtless looking firmly down at her as he spoke insistently, "Deanne, what did he do?"

She fidgeted—though not much, his hold was firm—worrying at her mantle again. "Well…he did…Not explicitly, but…"

Vilkas growled, his hands curling around to her back and his words carrying over her head back the way they'd come. "Now I know I hate him."

Deanne placed her hands on his chest, looking up at what she hoped was his face. "I'm alright. He hasn't done anything since. It was just the one time." She hadn't given him the opportunity after that. "Please, can we just…keep going? There's still some places I can show you."

Though Vilkas grumbled, he did allow her to replace his hand on her waist and draw him down the hall, his hand furling around her hip without prompting. There was somewhere she'd been meaning to take him, holding it until last. Given the intelligence and thirst for knowledge implied by his questions, she hoped it would be to his liking.

They went down the appropriate stairway when they reached it and down a hall to the door. She slipped out of his hold and reached out to pull both doors open with all do grandeur. The intake of breath behind her told Deanne she'd been right, and drawing back the broad smile that Ancano had chased away.

"Welcome to the Arcanaeum," she said, finding his hand again and drawing him inside.

They walked slowly into the repository of preserved knowledge, Vilkas twisting here and there to get a full look at their surroundings. She knew what he saw: shelves stuffed to capacity with varied volumes reaching high over even his head, the shelves stretching and multiplying and carrying off in all directions to disappear into the unknown maze-like design that filled the space, above them a second level seemingly suspended above their heads, with carefully gated compartments above for scrolls both ancient and young, dual stairways spiraling up to it around the Arcanaeum's center. She felt the Magelights flit awake as they approached, providing soft light by which to see the details written on the spines that flanked them, the smell of aged parchment and leather filling the air.

"Shor's bones…"

Deanne giggled. "I hoped you'd like this."

Vilkas huffed disbelieving, his head craned up. "And to think I was proud of my library back home. I managed to fill a couple shelves over the years, but this? This is…monumental. You can…" He paused, sobering quickly, his hand and voice softening. "But you can't…can you."

Not a question. Deanne's head bent, a little sobered herself. "No." But she shook it off, as she was used to doing. "I can 'read' spell scrolls though. Urag, the Arcanaeum's keeper, keeps all sorts to sell. I'm the only one he will lend them to because I'm the only one who can learn a spell from them without 'using' up the scroll." She made a point to smile, preferring to focus on the implied favoritism of the keeper's actions rather than her disability.

The silence made her nervous. Without saying anything, she could hardly tell his mood, or the impact of what she'd said. At least until he took her hand and pressed it to his cheek, sighing. "You are remarkable."

Deanne felt her cheeks flush. "Because…how I learn spells?"

"No. You're sad that you can't use all this. But you still smile and share it with me…" He sighed again, overcome. Then he planted his hands on her hips and spun her around to face the greater mass of the Arcanaeum, whispering into her ear, "Pick one."

"Pick…Why?"

"So I can read it to you," he stated.

She started. "Oh! You don't have to—"

"I know I don't," Vilkas said, bending his head toward her neck but stopping himself short. "I want to. Let me. Pick one."

With him so close to her like this, the warm rush from yesterday flooded her body and Deanne needed to swallow. "O-okay." She never been asked anything like this before. 'Pick one'. Now that she was called to make a choice, it suddenly occurred to her how many there were to choose _from_! Such a big decision. So…it should be something important, shouldn't it? Some serious, intellectual volume about the mysteries of Aetherius or the theories of ancient magics. Except, now that she had a choice, only one came to mind… "The…Ransom of Zarek?"

She felt him smile. "Good choice. Let's find it."

Urag gro-Shub was the only choice for finding a single volume in the multitude that occupied this space. He grumbled about strange folk being allowed access to 'his' Arcanaeum, and gave Vilkas and Deanne the usual lecture about treating the books well and keeping the collection intact, but did eventually direct them to the volume in question. Then it was a matter of finding an empty alcove in which to sit and read.

The alcove they chose was a leisure area, meant for silent reading. A few small side tables set next to plush chairs and a padded bench, several pillows distributed between them based on the last occupants' preferences. Vilkas gathered these up and concentrated them on the bench, drawing Deanne over when he was finished. Deanne sat up into the thick of the cushions with her hands clasped in her lap. Vilkas took his seat once she'd settled, putting himself down on the opposite end of the bench, the arm rest creaking as he put his weight on it, leaving plenty of space between them. Deanne's face fell.

"You ready, Deanne?"

"Yes," she replied, automatically.

"Alright, then." He exhaled, the bench creaking further as he sank into his seat. The book's spine whined a little as he opened it, followed by the gentle flutter of pages while he flipped to the first. "Alright. The Ransom of Zarek." Vilkas cleared his throat to begin. "'Jalemmil stood in her garden and read the letter her servant had brought to her. The bouquet of joss roses in her hand fell to the ground. For a moment it was as if all birds had ceased to sing and a cloud had passed over the sky.'"

Deanne's ears focused in on his voice, the rich baritone, full and warm. Her eyes fell closed and she let his voice wash over her, the story as much a pleasure as the sound of the one relaying to her. She knew the tale well. Father had read it to her almost every night when she was little, his voice soothing her, solid and reassuring when the world was newly dark. The reading had been routine for so long that she couldn't go to sleep without it. Of course she'd grown out of it eventually. Still, listening to Vilkas, she almost felt like she was back there, curled up in bed, someone's voice painting pictures in her mind and assuring her that all was calm and safe.

Although, in this case, she sort of…wanted to be closer. It was always a great comfort to have physical contact when her father had been the reader. Granted, with Vilkas it was…different. Would he…mind if she moved closer?

"'"Don't tell me they sent the ransom note so quickly," called a family voice, and a familiar face appeared through the hedge. It was Zarek.'" She worried at her mantle as Vilkas continued, finally unclasping her hands to brace and…scoot a few inches toward him. "'Jalemmil hurried to embrace her boy, tears running down her face. "What happened?" she cried. "I thought thou had been kidnapped."'" Deanne encountered a pillow partway. As nonchalant as possible, she folded it up behind her and continued toward her goal.

""I was," said Zarek. "Three huge soaring Nords attacked by carriage on the Frimvorn Pass. Brothers, as I learned, named Ma—"'" Deanne's knee brushed his and Vilkas paused. As did she, but briefly.

She wanted to be closer to him. And…and there was nothing wrong with that, was there? It was a brave thought—for her, at least—and gave her will enough to finish what she'd started. She shifted, bringing them flush against one another from hip to knee, shoulder to shoulder, then clasped her hands once more in her lap to listen.

Vilkas cleared his throat—she felt the sound carry through their contact—and continued, "'"Mathias, Ulin and Koorg. Thou should have seen these men, mother. Each one of them would have had trouble fitting through the front door, I can tell thee."'

His voice vibrating through his chest and into her where they touched. Deanne imagined, if she were braver, that she might crawl into his lap and lay her head on his chest, against the source of that wonderful sound. But that was not in her. Divines, she'd never entertained such thoughts before. What was it about him that made her so bold? Though, not _that_ bold. She remained precisely where she was, submerging herself in the sound and the feel of being—if not close as she wanted—close enough.

As the story went on, Vilkas's weight shifted off of the armrest and more toward her. Deanne welcomed it, leaning into him in return. He lifted his arm up onto the back of the bench, she was able to lay directly against his chest, feeling his voice even clearer as he spoke. It wasn't much longer before she had her head on his pectoral, and not much longer still before his arm was draped around her shoulders.

"'"That was when I made my escape, mother," said Zarek, in conclusion, showing a little schoolboy pride. "While Mathias and Koorg were at the base of the cliff, and Ulin was flailing about, engulfed by the swarm." Jalemmil embraced her son once again.'" The book clopped as he closed it and they both appreciated a moment of silence following the tale's end. "So? Did you like it?"

"Yes," Deanne replied dreamily. "It's my favorite. Father used to read it to me at night. Even if he'd had a hard day and was tired, he'd still make the time to read at least part of it before putting me to bed." She sighed, nestling more comfortably into his body, breathing him in. "I missed hearing it."

"You like hearing about how a school boy killed off ruffians one at a time?" Vilkas teased softly.

She smiled. "No. I like the idea that someone can defend themselves by being clever. Even against those who are big and strong."

Vilkas hummed. "That's true enough. And this was after your accident, I take it?"

"Before. But it became my favorite after. I knew I'd never be strong, so the story was a comfort. Made me more hopeful and less afraid. At least a little."

He rubbed his hand up and down her arm. "A good lesson."

Deanne sighed into him. "Thank you for reading it to me, Vilkas."

"Happy to," he murmured. "Care to pick another?"

"If you have—What about your companions? The others who were with you. I suppose I'm keeping you from them."

Vilkas shrugged. "You're not. They're probably almost to Whiterun by now."

She sat up. "They left?"

"Yesterday."

"They left you behind?!" she asked, twisting toward him.

"I told them to."

"Why?"

Vilkas chuckled, reaching out to adjust the folds of her mantle that had skewed. "Because I wanted to spend time with you."

She blinked, startled. "You…did?"

"Aye." His fingers brushed her cheek once as he tucked her hair back, then he dropped them. "Is that alright with you?"

"Of course!" She back wheeled immediately, embarrassed by her eagerness. "I-I mean, I do want you to be here. But only if _you_ want to be here. I don't want to take you away from anything, so if you—"

"Deanne—Deanne," he halted her, laughter coloring his words. "That's just fine. You're just fine, little one." His amusement more than his assurances let her breath again.

Her exhale was staggered and she slumped, dropping her forehead on his chest. Divines, she needed to stop getting so flustered so quickly. And hadn't she not long ago snuggled up against him as he read? He was here. He'd stayed. Because he wanted to spend time with her. Couldn't that be enough? Why was her first impulse to question and fear and deny? Well, she hadn't done that last yet. But it was on the tip of her tongue, even now: to tell him he didn't need to…To do what? Act like he cared for her? Why? Why did she do that?

And he did care for her. Didn't he? It certainly seemed like it. At least that was what she thought was happening.

Deanne reached up and put hands on his chest again. His returned to her shoulders. He was so warm and solid. Like this, she felt safe and wanted. All the feelings from yesterday woke up and sent a shiver through her, shaking loose another bold thought. What if…what if she leaned up and…and kissed him? Right now. It wasn't as though she hadn't thought about it since yesterday. And hearing he wanted to be here with her instead of going home with his comrades, would a display of affection be so uncalled for? It wasn't as though her mind was capable of formulating sentences right now, or her tongue of speaking them. What if he left tonight? Or tomorrow? What if she didn't get another chance to express to him how she was feeling?

Vilkas's fingers curled into her shoulder and he groaned softly. "Deanne…careful."

She started. "What?"

He breathed deeply—then cut himself off. "You're…I can smell your…You're starting to smell good again. Whatever you're thinking right now, careful."

"Oh…Sorry." So he could smell when she felt like this? Oh, dear. Should she…tell him… "I was thinking…about…kissing you…" Divines, what made her so bold with him?

Vilkas groaned again, stiffening in his seat. "Aye. That would do it."

"Sorry," she repeated, dropping her hands back into her lap and facing forward. "I'm sorry. Are you…alright?" 'Please, let his Blood not be up. Let him not have to go yet.'

He squirmed in place a bit. "Aye. Caught it early. We're alright."

'We'? Had he meant to say that? And was that him and his 'beast', or him and her?

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to…I don't want you to leave yet."

"I know. Neither do I," Vilkas leaned forward to murmur into her hair. They sat quietly for a few minutes, toeing the line of closeness without waking up his more animal side. "So…another book?"

She smiled softly. "Yes. Please." Something dry as a bone, just so they could stay like this, just a bit longer.

It ended up being the 'Enchanter's Primer', most of which she had already learned while working with Enchanter Sergius. But Vilkas seemed interested in the subject, so she stayed nestled into his side.

XXX

"So. Tomorrow? We can finish that book," Vilkas offered as they stood at the College front gates.

"If you wish. Oh! Not tomorrow. The Archmage. We spend Loredas doing alchemy. Fredas morning, then Loredas."

"S'alright. I can find something to do tomorrow. But, the day after…?" He sounded so hopeful. Did he really think she'd say 'no'?

"Of course." Except…She chewed her bottom lip. "How…how long will you stay in Winterhold?"

"As long as I'm able. The Circle can do without me for a time. I enjoyed today."

"So did I."

They lingered, the two of them close enough Deane could feel Vilkas's body heat. How had it taken until now for her to fully realize that he'd come to her without armor?

One of her bold thoughts from today resurfaced: what if she kissed him now? Another flood of warmth, sparkling under her skin, and she needed to wet her lips at the thought alone. How unfair that the wind so quickly stole the moisture. He was leaving. Would that be an alright time? He might…leave for good before Sundas. There was no telling what could happen. And she knew—she just knew—that if she didn't at least say something it would haunt her thoughts today and tomorrow.

She wetted her lips again, regardless of the greedy wind. "V-Vilkas…Could…I mean, I'd like…to—"

"Aye." The word was strained and hopeful, wanting and breathless. Answering.

But he couldn't—"You didn't let me finish."

"You don't need to," he almost groaned. "Winds don't help that much."

Deanne blushed. Just how sensitive was he to this? She squeezed his hand in one of hers, and her mantle in the other. "I…haven't…before."

"Anything?" His grip tightened, there was an intake of breath and she could have sworn he was shaking a little. His words were even more strained when he spoke. "'Course. Guess…you father never left you long enough with anyone to…"

She squeezed her mantle tighter. "No. But I'd still like to…with you. If you don't mind." Her inexperience felt like such a hurdle. One she didn't think she could surmount without help.

"I would—wouldn't. _Shit_, it's been on my mind since you said it." He stepped closer, not quite close enough that they touched but close enough she could feel his body heat. Divines, in this moment, she fully appreciated the fact that he'd come to her without wearing armor today. His hand fell to her waist, curling and sending shivers up her spine. "S'a bad idea. But I can't…Just a kiss. And just the one. Until I…then I'll leave. Before anything…happens." His hand held her still, restraining Deanne when she tried to step nearer. "No. No, I—Just…stay still. Any closer and I'll…" He growled under his breath from some internal pain and she hesitated.

"Vilkas, if this is too much—"

"It is. But…" He groaned again. "Shit, I don't think I can leave without, now. At least, if you—"

"Yes, please." Oh, Divines, let her have just imagined the plaintive quality of that.

Though he held them apart, Deanne reached up in search of his heartbeat, Vilkas's chest expanding when she touched him. Divines, it was strong. Thudding in his chest like a drum. Beating. Beating. And so fast. Like hers. Could he feel it? She turned up toward him, imagining how he must be looking down at her, all the emotions of his voice reflected in his eyes. His face. His mouth.

But…she didn't need to see it. She felt it. Felt it in his heartbeat, strong and rapid. She felt it in his hands, firm at her waist, keeping her near. Then gentle on her face, fingers brushing to lay along her jaw, palm cupping her cheek to tilt her face further. His body, heated, firm, solid and safe, his trembling eager even as he held back. And all those same emotions echoed in her.

This moment was torture. She just wanted to…to lean up and…and get it over with. Except she'd probably end up catching him on the chin if she tried seeking his lips. This almost _hurt_, this waiting. At last, he bent near. And she waited. Waited. _Waited_.

Until—at last—his lips reached hers.

The world just…stopped. Her mind and all existence centered on the contact of his mouth upon hers. His lips were chapped and dry, but still soft and supple, warm and so close. There was a light scratch of his beard, the warmth of his breath on her cheek, the scent of him in her nose. Vilkas moaned, the sound traveling into her as he molded his lips against hers. She followed his lead as they kissed, forming against his, catching a breath from his lungs, a taste from his mouth. She felt full of him, close and…a _part_ of him, their edges bleeding together, just for this moment, the heat within her roaring into an impassioned inferno.

Then it was over. He broke away, gasping and trembling, holding the two of them apart. "I gotta go. Now. Or—or I won't be able to—" Vilkas let go and rushed to the gate, yanking it open and plunging out beyond.

Deanne hurried after, colliding with the metalwork and holding where it was left open. "Vilkas! Sundas?"

"Sundas," he called, the promise carrying back to her over the wind.

She stayed, looking out after his retreat long after he'd vanished from her senses. Yet still her heart thundered, her face flushed and her blood surging. That…that had been… Deanne lifted a finger to her lips, the ghost of his touch still upon them. Her tongue flicked out, catching the last taste of his lips left behind.

Sundas. It couldn't come soon enough.

Deanne closed the gate carefully and drifted back towards the Hall of Attainment, imprinting the memory carefully in her mind. She was so out of it that, on the threshold, the impact of a flying body almost sent them both sprawling. Deanne found herself being wrenched around in a constrictor-like hug with what sounded like a half-mad Dunmer woman laughing in her ear. "Haha! I knew it! I knew you could do it!" The Ward gasped for breath upon release and was promptly yanked into the Hall of Attainment and straight to her room.

"Hey, Deanne," Onmund called. "Where have you been?"

"Not now. Go away!" Brelyna yelled and slammed the door on him. Deanne almost toppled against her bed and Brelyna leapt on beside her. "So start talking. I want to hear _everything_!"

The Ward squirmed up onto the duvet, insisting, "There's nothing to tell. We spent the day…talking. And reading. It's not—"

"Deanne!" Brelyna admonished. "This is a milestone in your life, and frankly the only interesting, good, _non-magical_ thing that's happened at this College since I got here. And, as your best friend, it is my prerogative to give my opinion on your flowering love life, but for that I need details."

Love life?! "Brelyna!"

"I'm serious!" and she turned ferocious, "Now _spill_!"

There was no arguing with her once Brelyna took that tone. "Alright, alright. But it's not all you think, I promise."

"I'll be the judge of that."

It felt like an interrogation. Brelyna grilled her about everything, interrupting ever other minute, jumping on tiny details that Deanne couldn't possibly imagine meant what Brelyna said they meant. By the time the apprentice was satisfied, Deanne was exhausted and more than happy to bid her friend good night. Though she blushed when Brelyna wished her 'sweet and steamy dreams'. Divines above, what was wrong with her?!

Although…such dreams would not be…unwelcome. Deanne touched her lips, remembering. It had come and gone so fast and, looking back, Deane felt the rush of warmth and found herself…unsatisfied. Divines, what was wrong with her? This was…what, the third time they'd been together since reuniting. And he'd kissed her. _Kissed _her. What more could she want? Well…_more_. She wanted more from him. More of…everything.

But how could she dare to want that? He'd given all he could, hadn't he? He'd kissed her, like she wanted, and had to rush away or risk succumbing to his 'blood'. He'd been trembling so terribly, how close must he have come to his limit? And here she was wanting even more? Divines, she was awful!

Deanne prepared for bed, scolding herself all the way to the point where she almost didn't notice…wait, that wasn't how she'd left her robes. There were several sets which she kept grouped on the rods based on their function. But, now, their distribution was disturbed. Odd. Maybe it was nothing. Maybe she should have just written it off as carelessness… Instead she knelt down and checked her shoes: all aligned on the bottom, not staggered like she usually left them. Further investigation revealed other things, little things: some garments no longer folded as precisely, some soul gems askew. Nothing significant that anyone else might notice. But Deanne maintained a very specific ordering of her possessions to account for her blindness, and all these little things, when added up, indicated that…someone had gone through her chamber.

The encounter with Ancano today came to mind immediately. But, why? What would he—or anyone—think to find amongst her things? She had nothing to hide from anyone.

The apparent trespass into her space was unsettling. Deanne made a point to lock her door and cast a lighting rune on the floor for good measure. Even then, getting to sleep was difficult. She needed to talk to Faralda tomorrow, before meeting the Archmage.

**Part fluffy, part setup, quick reminder why we don't like Ancano and - Brelyna, go get your own!**

**Reviews are beloved. And the next chapter will be...something. But fun for me!**


	32. What If

**Happy New Year, everyone! Here's a chapter to celebrate.**

"I think Tolfdir is going to ask for volunteers for the Saarthal expedition soon. When he does, we should all sign up," Brelyna stated at breakfast, the four of them clustered together in the apprentice dining hall. A few others were scattered about, but, since the incident in the Midden, their quartet was the most regular grouping of students. And the most vocal this morning.

J'Zargo snorted over his plate. "J'Zargo has already done so. Where have you been?"

Onmund sat up, incredulous. "You can't have signed up! Tolfdir hasn't even asked yet."

"J'Zargo spoke to him weeks ago, when he first mentioned the ruin. This is a fine chance for J'Zargo to distinguish himself. Did you think he would wait until they _asked_?" They'd grown somewhat used to his attitude, though Deanne could still feel the eyes rolling around the table.

"Anyway," Brelyna emphasized, "I think we should sign up together and try to go as a group, the four of us!"

"Are you sure that's a good idea? I mean, Saarthal is a several miles inland, over the ridge and everything. Far enough that there's sure to be bandits or something between here and there," Onmund said worriedly, bumping Deanne's hip as he shifted on the bench next to her.

"Which is why I'm saying we go together. If it's all four of us, it'll be just like our trip down to the beach. We were all fine with that. And I know that's the only way we'll get Deanne out of the College again otherwise."

"A walk to the beach is one thing. A trek to a ruin, even Saarthal, sounds dangerous," he argued.

"Come on, Tolfdir wouldn't entertain taking apprentices if he didn't think we could get there and back in one piece. Do you really think some random bunch of beasts or bandits are going to be waiting for us the minute we set foot outside the pass? Skyrim's not _that_ dangerous!"

J'Zargo backtracked the conversation a bit. "Why is it always about accounting for the blind mage? Not everyone needs to go."

"If we're going to go, then I'd prefer we all go together," Onmund stated.

Another scoff from the Khajiit. "J'Zargo knows why _you_ want her to come. Big empty ruin. Few people. Plenty of opportunity for…'exploration'—_Ahck_!"

Deanne fiddled with her cup, paying little attention to the conversation or whatever comment J'Zargo was getting rebuked for this time. She and her friends had breakfast together every morning, save those in which she rose early for alchemy with the Archmage. It had become routine. However, at this moment she was debating when it would stop being rude of her to leave the table. Vilkas was probably waiting out on the bridge right now. She didn't want to leave him there too long…

"—Well, Deanne, what do you think?"

She pulled out of her thoughts. "Think about…?" Saarthal. Right. "I'll…think about it." She lifted her cup to find she'd long since finished her tea. She deflected the embarrassment by setting it down definitively. "Well, I need to go. I…have an appointment."

Brelyna leapt on it without hesitation. "I'll walk you."

Deanne hesitated. Wasn't Brelyna involved enough as it was? "That's alright, you don't have to—"

"But I will anyway." The Dunmer was off the bench and around the table before Deanne could say another word. "We'll see you boys later." And Deanne found herself being dragged out of the room.

Deanne got her feet properly under her and Brelyna let her choose the pace as they strolled along downstairs together, Brelyna perky and Deanne rather sullen. "Don't worry," Brelyna whispered after they'd reached the bottom of the stairs. "I won't keep you from your man too long."

Deanne blanched and hissed, "He's not my man." The words echoed in the hall and she clapped her mouth shut. Brelyna actually giggled—giggled—and Deanne pulled her mantle forward to hide the flush that raced into her cheeks. They ducked into Deanne's chamber so she could pick up her cloak for the outdoors. The enclosed space meant she could speak somewhat normally. "Y-you know, I understand you're...that you've invested yourself in this. But that doesn't mean you have to be involved in every aspect of this." Whatever 'this' was.

Brelyna snorted. "The only part I was 'involved in' was making you talk to him in the first place. Oh, and you're welcome for that." Deanne ducked her head, focusing on aligning her buttons with their appropriate holes. "And anyway, that's not why. I just wanted to warn you that I'm going to come find you in a couple hours to take you to Faralda's self-defense seminar."

"You don't have to—"

"Yes, I do," the womer interrupted, the two of them going over to Brelyna's room next. "Because we both know that, if it were up to you, you wouldn't go. You will never voluntarily practice Destruction any more than you're required to for the curriculum. Even if you _should_." There was a significant implication to that last word…

Deanne started. "She told you?!"

Any disbelief was swept away by Brelyna's indignation. "Of course she told me. More importantly, why didn't _you _tell me? This is serious, you know. Someone going through your room—your private room—when you're not there? That's important!"

"They didn't take anything—"

"It doesn't matter if they took anything. Maybe they weren't there to take anything. The important thing is that they were there at all. I mean, yes, I can see why you went to Faralda about it, and that's good. But why didn't you tell me? Did you think I wouldn't believe you? Or wouldn't care? Did you think I was in on it?"

Deanne was taken aback. "Of course not!"

"Then why?" Brelyna demanded, sounding hurt. "I'm your friend. When things like this happen to you, I'm here for you. And now? Now I'm going to worry about the stuff you don't tell me about."

The Ward dropped her head, twisting her mantle in hand. "I'm sorry. I really didn't think it was a big deal."

"Well, it is!"

Deanne's head dropped further. "I'm sorry. Please don't be mad."

"I'm not mad, I'm…" Brelyna groaned. "I'm not mad. I'm disappointed." She rounded on her friend with more levity. "See what you did? You made me sound like my parents!"

"…Is that a bad thing?"

Another groan and an exaggerated, "Nooooo. But that doesn't mean I have to like it." She finished snatching up her bag for the day and hooked Deanne's arm on the way out the door. "Come on. Let's go find your man."

"He's not my man!"

"Sure he's not," Brelyna sniggered. "Or maybe I should ask _him_."

"Divines, please don't!" Brelyna laughed hard, the previous seriousness seemingly forgotten. Still, Deanne felt the need to repeat, "I am sorry for not talking to you. But I really didn't think it was a big deal. Nothing was missing, I don't have anything to hide. I didn't want to bother anyone about it."

"Except Faralda," the womer pointed out.

"Well, she made me promise to."

Brelyna sighed. "But you don't want to bother anyone about anything. Ever. You almost didn't wake me about going down to meet the Augur, remember? And how did that turn out? Sorry, Deanne, but you're not a very good judge of when you should 'bother' anyone about anything."

Deanne sighed. "I know."

"And, considering Faralda scheduled a self-defense seminar and is requiring you to come right after you told her about it, I'd say this is probably more serious than you think."

"Someone looking through my room is 'serious'?"

"Maybe," Brelyna said. "When she was talking to me, Faralda said something…I don't really know."

"What?"

"I don't know! She seemed frustrated. Maybe someone's been sneaking around the College doing things. I mean, I haven't noticed anything but…" Brelyna shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe she'll tell you if you ask."

"Maybe."

They finished the walk to the gate in silence—at which point Brelyna's humor returned in a whispered tease. "But don't let that distract you from enjoying your man."

"_Stop_!" Deanne hissed back, praying Vilkas hadn't heard.

They opened the gate and the warrior entered from outside with a pleasant, "Good morning."

"Good morning," Deanne replied, staying within her mantle to hide the blush Brelyna had stoked.

"Good morning!" Brelyna declared. "Nice to see you again."

Vilkas responded, "Likewise. Brelyna, wasn't it?"

"Yes it is. So good of you to remember. Stop nudging me! Just so you know, you only get her a couple hours today. We have a seminar later and Deanne needs to be there."

"Yes, ma'am," he replied.

Deanne felt Brelyna inflate, then whisper—not so quietly—, "Oh, I like him."

A fresh wave of embarrassment rushed Deanne's face and she planted her hands on her friend's back to propel her off in the College's direction. "Okay! Okay!" the Dunmer squawked indignantly. Yet, she still could not resist tossing a last, "Have fun, you two!" back at them before strolling off.

Deanne tried to smother her flush as she turned back to Vilkas. "I'm sorry about her. She seems to think…I'm not even sure what she seems to think."

Vilkas chuckled, a warm honeyed sound. "S'alright. I like her, too. Probably keeps you on your toes, doesn't she."

Deanne sighed. "More so lately, yes. Which is…good and bad." She shook off the earlier conversation—both the 'Vilkas' and 'room invasion' aspects—to focus on what was in front of her. She heard his silhouette as the weather curled around his shape. "…Good morning."

He stepped closer, his voice dropping an octave. "Good morning."

She swallowed, her stomach fluttering, and a shiver ran down her spine. Divines, how long did she need to wait to kiss him again? And how, on Mundus, did he make such thoughts the first on her mind?

"I have something for you."

Deanne perked at the offer. "What is it?"

Vilkas shifted something off his shoulder and closed her hand around the puckered end of a bag. It weighed a few pounds; the material was waterproofed leather tied at the top with a thong. Whatever it held was dense and, when she felt the bottom, viscous. Odd. And there was a smell. As Deanne brought the top to her nose, Vilkas supplied, "Troll fat."

Deanne loosened the end and took proper sniff, holding down her breakfast as she did so. Troll fat indeed. "It's very fresh," she said, somewhat congested. "Where did you get it?"

"From a troll, obviously."

The gears turned resolutely in her mind until the implication clicked into place. "You fought a troll?!"

"Killed a troll," he said proudly, "but yeah."

Images of the hulking creatures sprung to mind and Deanne almost dropped the bag, fairly lurching to reach out to him. "Are you alright?!"

He caught her, steadying the two of them so she could grasp his forearm at an easy distance. "I'm fine. A few cuts and bruises. Armor needs some repairs. It was a troll, after all. The enchantments worked great." Vilkas said the last fondly.

And she barely registered the praise. "But are _you_ alright? I mean, you—You're—" She cast a broad Restoration sensory spell over him to gauge the damage, even as she struggled for the right words. A few cuts and bruises? Yes, the cuts were few, but the _bruises_? Three that drew her sympathy: one that covered a full half of his left thigh, a bloom on his side below the rib cage, and the one on his right forearm that reached all the way to the bone. He had taken a pounding from the creature. "You're hurt!" Her mind raced. She couldn't heal it all—bruises were long term damage, even with magic—but she could help. Deanne seized his hand with her free one. "Come with me."

Vilkas easily resisted her urging. "Deanne, I'm fine. I've had worse than this, believe me—"

Deanne spun back to him, "Please!"

That stopped him up quickly enough. "…Alright."

That was all she needed. Deanne pulled Vilkas back toward the Hall of Attainment. There was no one on the lower floor to intercept them, so she hurried them into the bathing chamber. There was a cache of healing supplies in here, one of many throughout the College, lest an experiment go wrong and someone required more than the average healing. Harm dealt in battle with a troll was, oddly enough, one of the less likely incidents.

Deanne ushered him hurriedly to a bench. "Please, sit and take your armor off. Please." She feared he might argue again. Say it was nothing. Brush it off as the consequences of being a warrior. After a few seconds pause, however, she heard the dulled clink of metal and leather of him undoing the clasps of the breastplate she'd worked the other day, and she was the one to breath with relief.

Without pause, Deanne went to retrieve materials from the supply store. Her thoughts were so rattled that it took three passes to identify what she needed. The salve—was this the one with a juniper berry base? Yes! Thank the Eight. One of the better recipes to combine with Restoration magic. She gathered up all the vials of it, along with some bandages, and hurried back to Vilkas, hearing the last piece of armor hit the floor behind him, safely away from where she might trip over them.

Deanne reached out and touched him, gentling her hand when she laid it first on his damaged arm. He still wore the garments beneath his armor. "Your shirt and pants, too," she said firmly, like the healers back at the Temple of Julianos. "I need direct access to the damaged areas."

There was another hesitation. By the time she had her burdens set out in such a way that she could reach them with ease, he'd begun divesting himself of the demanded garments. With his shirt removed, Deanne reached out until she lay her hand on the bicep that held the first bruise. Another pass of magicka revealed the extent of the damage: broken blood vessels, the fluid pooling and congealing, dead volume applying pressure to the muscles, faint fissures in his bones. She swallowed the bubble of terror over how he'd received it all and went to work. Salve and spell, targeting the damaged areas, healing what she could and infusing more into his body, setting up the processes to support and continue the work over the next several days, sealing up lingering cuts and marks as she went. Salve went on liberally, soaked into cloth and bound around his arm with the bandages, the concoction augmented with a spell to maximize its effect.

An image of Vilkas engaged with the troll stole into her mind. _The beast was huge, its hulking mass towering a head taller than him. It swung massive arm down, bones crunching as Vilkas tried to defend himself—_

Deanne shook the image away. Focus. She needed to focus.

Once she was done with his arm, she moved on to his side, repeating the process, taking care to touch him gently and not oversaturate him with Restoration too early—

—_Ribs buckled under next the blow, bone piercing his lung. Vilkas staggered, blood pooling internally, filling his lung; breathing grew short. Not enough time to move to avoid the next—_

—She mustn't reach his body's limit for healing before she'd seen to everything. She couldn't bear to leave him hurting. She couldn't! Vilkas remained quiet through it all, his only movement the expansion and compression of his lungs beneath her hands as she worked. The bathing room was adequately heated, because he wasn't shivering either. Deanne felt no sickness in him either. He must have gotten to shelter soon after his battle, thank the Divines.

She finished with his side only to realize that he still wore his trousers. "Your pants, too." The last bruise was on his thigh and she reached out to indicate it, misjudging and brushing something solid in his pocket as she did so.

The contact must have pressed it into his bruise because Vilkas hissed and grabbed her hands, holding them away. "Not necessary, little one. I'm alright."

Her singlemindedness faltered and her hands trembled. "I know how bad it is. I can tell. I can—Let me take care of you!"

"You have." Vilkas assured her, pressing both her hands into her lap. "You've done enough. I'm alright, I swear."

She tried to wiggle her hands out from under his. She _had _to heal him. As much as she could. "No, I haven't. You're still—"

"Deanne!" he cut her off harshly. His hands stayed tight and he sucked in a breath, forcing himself calm. "Deanne, there is nothing I'd like more than for you to…take care of me. But it's a bad idea for me to be any less garbed while we're alone like this. Understand."

She didn't. "But your leg—"

"Will heal. I'll be alright. This isn't the first time I've been roughed up in a fight. It isn't even the first time it's been a troll. Alright, maybe I haven't fought one alone on the tundra before. But I'm fine. I'll be fine."

Deanne stopped fighting him, the healer in her faltered. _Not the first time_. No, of course it wasn't. He was a Companion. Trolls, bears, bandits. This…this was normal for him. The tremble in her hands worsened. He fought all the time. It was what he did. He went into battle against monsters and bad people. It was how they'd met, wasn't it? He fought. They fought back. He got hurt. It was normal. She knew that. She did. But…but…

She gasped once for air and ducked her head, letting her mantle fall forward to hide her face.

"Deanne, I'm alright," he repeated for the umpteenth time.

She nodded furiously, trying to shake off the sudden swell of fear and sorrow, not trusting herself to speak. He was alright. But what if, one day…One day—

No, no, no! She couldn't let herself cry. Not now. Not in front of him. Not like this. _'Stop crying, Deanne. You're acting like a child.'_ She could just hear Marc's voice. She wanted to stop. This was so shameful. Childish. She wanted to stop!

Marc. Oh, Gods, _Marc_!

"Deanne?" Vilkas pushed back her hair and mantle. Her hands slipped free of his and leapt up cover her face before the fur was pushed off her head and her hair was tugged back over her shoulders. Her hands were all that kept the tears from his sight. "Deanne, talk to me."

Marc had disappeared. She'd feared for his safety, walking the wide world alone. But she'd let him go anyway. Alone. Anyway. And he'd never returned. Just _gone_, vanished, leaving her alone. Dead? Captured? She didn't know. She'd never know. They hadn't even encountered any dangers before then. No beasts or bandits between the border and where they'd parted. But he still hadn't come back. Who knew what could have happened to him!

And Vilkas…Vilkas went knowingly to those dangers. Sought them out and faced them. It was what he did, as a Companion. T-trolls. And bandits. Monsters. There was no telling what he would encounter out there. What would happen out there. One day, he'd leave, just like Marc. And then…

She shook her head; the emotion surged up with no consideration at all. It wouldn't go away! Just kept building with no regard to the fact she didn't want it! And, when she sought to make some excuse, to divert his interpretation, her traitor mouth— "You won't…"

"Won't what? What?"

"You _won't_ _come_ _back_."

Vilkas shifted on the bench, leaning over her and smoothing his hand over her hair again. "Of course I will. Deanne, I will come back to you. I will always—"

"Stop, stop, _STOP_!" she almost shrieked, only to withdraw from the outburst. Divines, where was this all—why couldn't she stop? She just wanted it all to stop.

Deanne clutched her hands to her chest, leaning away from his touch as if that might make it easier. Easier, at least, to pretend she wasn't doing this in front of him. "Don't. Don't say it. Please. You can't promise that. You can't, because you won't." She sniffed hard. It was more than that he'd been hurt while away from her, more than that she'd had no knowledge of it until the moment he told her at the gate. "You won't. You'll get hurt. Or…or killed. Or you'll—" Oh, Gods, and now she couldn't keep from thinking about it, the ramifications building on themselves in front of her, tearing her apart at the seams. And it wouldn't stop. The weight bent her beneath it. "You'll leave. Back to—back to Whiterun. You'll have to. You can't—you can't stay here. Eventually—you'll leave. And—" Something would happen. "—and I won't know what happens to you. I won't know! You just—won't come back."

Tears were flooding down her face. And she couldn't stop. She wanted to, but she couldn't. Why did this have to happen now? A single train of thought—the thought of living again with Vilkas absent, of being left alone again—and she was reduced to tears. Why? Why?! And now? Why couldn't this have come to her last night, or any other night when she was alone? When no one could hear or see her like this? Where this ridiculous sorrow could run its course without witnesses? Without _him _to witness?!

In the tiny, rational corner of her mind, barely discernible in the maelstrom, she knew it was such a stupid thing to cry about. She wasn't alone here. Of course she wasn't. And he was going to leave. Of course she knew that. Had always known that. Sooner or later, it was going to happen. He was a Companion, she was a mage. He belonged in Whiterun with the other Companions, and she could not leave the College. She knew—she _knew_ he would leave. So why, why, _WHY _did she dare to cry so?!

And what must he think of her? Getting this…emotional about him going away. What must he think of her being reduced to tears about this? He must think her weak. Foolish. He must wish to be away from it. From her! Like Marc. Like the priests. Only father and the priestesses had remained by her side when she endured such surges of sorrow. All others…Surely he would wish to leave now. Until she'd calmed down and regained some control over herself. And she was trying! But she just couldn't—

She choked trying to swallow her sobs, then turned further away from the warrior. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry!" She wanted away. To hide this from him! The woman rose, meaning to flee to the door and then to the safety of her room. He caught her before she'd even taken one step.

Deanne found herself tugged back down, not onto the bench beside him, but onto his lap. She pulled, curled, turned away, but he wouldn't let her. Regardless of her squirming, she couldn't escape. Vilkas folded her arms across her chest, drew her knees up likewise, setting her feet on his thigh. Once manipulated into a singular concise package, he wrapped the whole of her tightly within his embrace. She couldn't help it. She couldn't _stop_ from sinking into his support, so readily offered. Even if she hated seeming so weak in front of him.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

Vilkas secured her in place, nuzzling into her hairline. "S'alright. I'm here. I'm right here." Light pressures fell on her face and she realized…he was kissing her. Light presses of his lips upon her cheeks, her forehead, her temple. They fell relentlessly, covering the whole of her face. And, Divines, if that didn't insight the tears to flow even _more _freely. He kissed them away as they came.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

She caught his mouth once or twice, but he never stayed. Across her cheek, to the corners of her eyes, over her forehead, down to her chin—

"I'm sorry. 'm…"

—up her jaw, over the bridge of her nose, across her eye lids—

They slowed with the strength of her outburst, each one falling firmer and longer than the last. Deanne went limp, ceased hiding from his assault, and her tears came afresh for another reason.

She sniffed and wailed plaintively, "Why do you have to be so wonderful?!"

There was a soft vibration in his chest and Vilkas dwelt on her lips a bit with his next pass, letting her kiss him back, then moved on, making certain there wasn't an inch of skin that had not received its share. And, Divines, she let him. She soaked it up, unsure when exactly she'd stopped wishing to be elsewhere.

This didn't fix anything. If anything, it would make it h-harder…the day he didn't come back. But…but she didn't want to move. She…she wanted to stay here, enfolded by his embrace, awash with his care and…affection. She wanted so, so _badly_ to stay with him. Deanne lay her head on his bare shoulder, forehead pressed into the junction of his neck, too tired to fight how deeply she felt. Did she want to fight it? The outburst, the anguish. Just the thought of being without him hurt so much! And within moments she felt secure and safe with him. It was so blissful…

Was she in love? Was that what this was? From what she'd been told, it might be. The happiness of having him close, of feeling wanted and cared for. But no one told her it came with lows of equal measure. Why would no one speak of such things? Why were there no warnings? She didn't want to hurt like this. She didn't want to fear losing him to the point where _this _happened merely by thinking too hard about it! It made Deanne want to fight such attachment before it got worse...

Deanne hiccupped. It was probably too late for that now, wasn't it? Too exhausted. Divines, she was tired. Though not enough she could forget the shame.

The woman turned her head into his shoulder, a superficial camouflage only. "…I'm sorry. I…I wish…I wish you hadn't seen me…like that. Like _this_."

His chest vibrated again, the smallest sound of amusement escaping its confines, and he cinched her legs up tighter in his arms. "S'alright. We've done this before, you and I." Deanne blinked, eyelashes brushing his skin as they lifted and lowered. When would he have—Oh. The cave with the bandits. Their first meeting. She'd…tried to forget that, actually. Yes, perhaps this shedding of tears was not quite so different. Though, the reason, by comparison— "Besides, given what I've done in front of you—what I've become in front of you—I'd say this is the least I could do in return."

'In return'? Like…a fair exchange? Right…Yes, that would…make sense. That all this was just—

No, no it wasn't. Vilkas hadn't given her any reason to believe that this was 'just' an exchange. Or 'just' anything. He acted like he cared for her. Held her, touched her, kissed her like he might…

But it hurt! It hurt thinking like that. Because…he _would_ leave. And when he did… If this was the result of just _considering_ the _possibility_, the Divines only knew how much it would break her when it truly happened. But if she could believe this just an exchange, it wouldn't hurt as much, would it? Or was it too late for that? Thank the Divines he could not hear the turmoil of her mind right now, limp though she was in body.

Vilkas rubbed his cheek against her forehead, his scruff tickling her hairline. "I'm right here. But, perhaps, I should put my shirt back on." He cleared his throat. "Wouldn't want anyone walking in and…getting the wrong idea."

She wasn't sure why such a thing was worth being concerned about. Given their position, someone might think, perhaps—hopefully?—that something romantic was going on between them. But that wasn't bad, was it? There were no rules against it, either between colleagues of the College or with outsiders. Or did…did he not want anyone to know? He'd seemed fine enough holding her hand and having his arm around her the other day. Did he not wish it to appear to go further?

Deanne almost hid behind her hands again as these doubts surfaced; and so quickly. What was going on with her? She'd been so happy yesterday. Almost walking on air. Now it was a pain in her chest and an endless supply of tears, doubts dancing at the edge of her mind? Why was this happening? How did she make it stop?!

Vilkas, reading her well, wrapped her up anew and held her tight until this wave of anxiety passed. Deanne remained curled against his chest afterward, and he didn't speak again about the shirt.

Neither really notice when the door to the bath chamber opened.

**Auwwww! I think Deanne needed that. And whose walking through the door?! Tune in next time to find out. Thank you for reading! And have a great new year, everyone!**


	33. Wanted

**Thanks for your patience, everyone!**

"Oh! I'm sorry, I didn't… Deanne? Hey, _let go of her_!" Electricity crackled as Onmund came rushing across the space.

Vilkas shifted forward and over her, arm tightening around her waist, and a growl resonate beneath where she lay her head. "Back off, mage."

His demand, more than Onmund's, brought her mind to bear.

"I'm warning you, if you don't let go of her this instant—!"

Deane sat up hurriedly. "No, no, Onmund, wait! I'm fine."

The crackling ceased, though Vilkas remained tensed. Onmund sounded staggered when he spoke. "You're…He's not…_Who is he?!_"

A rumble sounded from Vilkas again at the almost incredulous demand. Deanne lay a hand on his chest, a silent urge for calm, and answered, "This is Vilkas. He's a Companion from Whiterun. Vilkas, this is Onmund, an apprentice and a friend."

Vilkas unwound just slightly, sitting back and better securing Deanne in her seat as he did so. "Good to meet you," he said stiffly. "Deanne's told me a little about you. Newest arrival, right?"

Onmund was equally stiff. "Yeah, that's me."

Deanne wondered why he seemed so out of sorts—then remembered she was still seated on Vilkas's lap, which was certainly _not_ something she normally did. And Vilkas was only half clothed, his bare skin still beneath her hand. Being caught in such a position made her blush and drop her head, but the embarrassment was not so great that she tried to remove herself from the man in question.

All around them, the silence rang in their ears. She wondered how one was supposed to alleviate the growing awkwardness. Onmund supplied that, saying abruptly, "Deanne. You're going to Faralda's seminar, right?"

"Yes."

He cleared his throat authoritatively. "It's starting soon. We should get going."

She stayed seated, thinking. How long had she and Vilkas been in here? "Brelyna said she would come get me when it was time."

"Well, she must be looking for you now," Onmund said hurriedly, walking the last few feet to stand near to them. "But since we're both going, I can take you." The offer was said firmly enough Deanne wondered if there wasn't something wrong.

Meanwhile, Vilkas bent to her ear and murmured, "What seminar?" His warm breath on her neck made her shiver.

"Self-defense," she answered, leaning into him. "Magister Faralda wants to make sure we have a practical grasp of the use of Destruction magic in the field."

He nodded, barely brushing her hair as he did so. "A wise plan. May I accompany you?"

"You're a mage?" Onmudn asked incredulously.

Vilkas sat taller and turned toward the apprentice. "No, but I consider myself pretty good in a fight. Practically speaking." He leaned back to Deanne's ear. "And I'd rather not leave you today like this." A smile spread over her face.

Onmund said quickly, "Faralda might not want him there. He could be…distracting."

"You won't be much good in a fight if you get distracted easily," Vilkas retorted.

"We're not training for battle. This is just _in case_ we have to fight," Onmund rebuked.

Vilkas's hand on her hip cinched over her hip bone as he replied, "All the more reason to practice in realistic conditions."

Deanne felt them growing more heated with each response. "Stop, please!" Astonishingly, both men shut their mouths. Divines, she hated it when people fought. "We can ask, can't we? Maybe she won't mind if he just watches. I mean…if you would be alright just watching."

Vilkas hummed off to the side, then leaned in and brushed the tip of his nose against her cheek. "I'll be wherever you need me, little one." Deanne's smile returned at the gentleness of his gesture.

There was some frustrated sound from Onmund. Then he urged, "Shall we go, then? Faralda would hate it if we're late."

"Yes. Of course. Don't want to be late," Deanne blathered, her stomach still fluttering. She squirmed out of Vilkas's lap, careful not to lean into any of his hurts. His hands on her hips helped her to rise, with him right behind her. Vilkas gave her his hand to grasp immediately. There was another unhappy sound from Onmund's direction. Perhaps there was something to Vilkas's comment about the shirt. And if Onmund was acting like this, Deanne could only assume Faralda would be worse. She squeezed Vilkas's hand firmly, hoping that any animosity would fade once they got to know him like she did. Provided he stayed in the area around the College long enough for that to happen.

XXX

The warrior was still here. He walked in the workroom amidst most of Deanne's apprentice quartet, with Deanne herself clinging to his side. Faralda frowned. She'd only yesterday become aware he was still lurking around Winterhold, and in the company of their young Ward. Faralda cursed that her magisterial tasks had prevented her from becoming aware of this development sooner. Particularly given the scene before her.

Deanne's hands were wrapped around his arm and she was tucked close to his side. Brelyna was casting smug sideways glances at the pair as she chattered away. Little busy-body. Under most circumstances, Faralda had no qualms with the Dunmer apprentice. Her friendship with Deanne had drawn their Ward out of her shell and provided a peer that Faralda, for all her good intensions, could not. However, Brelyna had yet to develop a sense of limits in her meddling, or learn when it was appropriate to leave well enough alone. Case in point: the antiquated romance she was very clearly encouraging.

As limited as the Nordic stereotype made them out to be, in her years at the College, Faralda had found the typecast accurate nonetheless. Better to have encouraged young Onmund instead, the boy now sulking on the edge of the group, glaring at the warrior with distaste. That interest at least, Faralda had kept aware of. Even made plans to speak with the young mage prior to his launching a proper courtship. Deanne had no family to look out for her in such matters, and Faralda took the role upon herself. She was such a sweet girl. She did not deserve to be toyed with or suffer heartbreak.

To Faralda's knowledge, Onmund had yet to work up the courage to express his growing interest to Deanne, obvious though it was to those who paid the pair attention. Now, it appeared, Faralda's intended 'conversation' was likewise thwarted by the warrior's arrival.

The Destruction Master found her frown deepening to a glare, despite her professional intentions. Her sense of the warrior had been gathered from a handful of interactions, all of them short. Yet he seemed to her an archetypal 'Son of Skyrim'. She expected him to, at any moment, break out in hives being so surrounded by the magically inclined. And his proximity to Deanne did him no favors in the Magister's eyes. This was _precisely _the sort that Faralda wished to keep _away_ from the girl. The muscle-bound, Nord-warrior, more interested in sport and bedding than true communion. And already Deanne had fallen for it. Held to his arm, gravitated to him. Faralda's heart ached for the girl who couldn't imagine that her fair hero would, as of yet, prove to be a cad seeking another notch for his bedpost.

Until—

The warrior bent his head and murmured something to Deanne. Faralda expected the girl to blush furiously at the crudity of whatever he had said—Instead, what tension there was in her shoulders bled out and she leaned her forehead into his arm. And the warrior…Deanne said something and his face softened, his eyes downcast as he placed his free hand atop those about his arm.

Faralda's glare eased, but her brow remained furrowed in thought. She'd seen that look before. Not often, but often enough. …Perhaps, this interaction warranted reappraisal.

XXX

The Altmer was staring at him. He could feel it. Somewhere off to his periphery, her eyes were on him. But Vilkas kept his attention on Deanne. The Nord mage, for instance, was closer than Vilkas would have liked. He hovered at her shoulder like an insect. And, as if the mage could sense Vilkas's glare, he made regular attempts to block the Companion's view. Vilkas resisted the urge to curl his lip and focused instead on the proceedings.

It struck home just how vulnerable she was when they began this seminar and introduced all the little ways one might utilize magic to discourage an assailant. Not even an opponent; an assailant. This wasn't about battle, about fighting, about matching one's enemy. This was solely about self-defense. And Vilkas didn't like it. Didn't like…imagining the sort of situation where she'd need to use this.

The mages began with Destruction magic spells, obviously—shock, frost, fire—led by the Altmer Magister who glared. She taught them a focused version of each element: an intense burst of elemental power meant to drive off an attacker in close quarters. Not like any spell Vilkas had ever had to deal with. Which parts of the body were most vulnerable to which affects, and how to draw up and release the spell in quick succession while under pressure. This was followed up by some instruction in Alteration…he thought. Truth was, Vilkas only had a basic grasp of the schools of magic. He wasn't too concerned about categorizing a spell when it was being lobbed at him by a necromancer he was trying to kill anyway. An elderly bearded Magister instructed the students on blinding using intense bursts of Magelight and the more advanced students practiced Paralyzing their assailants.

Deanne was better at the Alteration than the Destruction, the latter of which he could tell made her uncomfortable. Of course it did; she wasn't the sort to hurt anyone, even for practice, even when she needed to demonstrate she could use them. Only a series of enchanted 'resist' items on her partner could convince her to try with any useful intensity. Then they moved on to more direct methods of defense for when spellwork failed. And Vilkas felt his stomach twist.

The Altmer demonstrated how to force someone to release their grip by targeting sensitive flesh or jamming under their fingernails. She instructed on how to find and strike at vulnerable body parts: groin, liver, feet, eyes. And over and over, he heard the Magister say: "Yell. Shout. Scream. Make noise. Get attention," and "Force them to let go, then run." Call for aid and retreat. This 'fighting' had nothing to do with breaking an opponent's guard or getting inside his defense. This was not the fighting Vilkas had been taught.

Vilkas's warrior-trained mind balked at the thought of calling for help or running from any sort of fight. But…that was the whole point. This wasn't about battle. This was about survival. Defense of one's self. This was preparation to defend one's self. To prevent abuse or…or rape. Vilkas needed to readjust, watching her practice defending herself. He never considered learning such measures. In no circumstance in Vilkas's life had an encounter called for such tactics. If he fought, he fought. Failure would result in either a beating or death. Even if he was ambushed, it was just a matter of fighting himself free. It was simple. Obvious.

For Deanne? No. No, she had more to fear in a fight than physical pain. And watching her practice to defend herself as she was now…Vilkas's hands tightened into fists, protective instincts flexing with his muscles. It was impossible not to imagine her in a circumstance where she would use what she was learning. To imagine someone come at her, attack her, with the intent to—

Vilkas passed a hand over his face. When had he ever gone into a fight fearing that sort of violation? Never. It was victory or death. But…he was male. Did that truly make such a difference? Looking across the room at Deanne, struggling to find a timely manner in which to find an opponent's eyes with her fingers, it occurred to him that…Yes. Yes, it did make a difference.

He had no idea what sort of fears she lived with. Perhaps not here. She'd said nothing of concerns—aside from that Ancano, who everyone was wary of. But outside the walls of the College? Vilkas knew the sort of people she would need to fear. He passed them on the street, saw them in the taverns, fought them in the wilds, watched their eyes gravitate to the female forms around them. He winced, knowing how little concern he carried over them. The sorts who never did anything out in the open or where anyone could see. But out of sight? One moment of isolation…and it could be Deanne.

Vilkas leaned forward over his knees, taut with a sudden drive to action. She should never have to learn this. At no point in her life, under no circumstances should she be called to defend herself like this. She shouldn't _have _to fear for her safety. She shouldn't _have _reason to be wary unfamiliar people and their intentions, of empty, isolated places. There should not _be_ those who might look at her with such base intensions, or feel so entitled to her body to the point that they might force themselves on her. There was no reason, no excuse for such bestial behavior. Vilkas's hands curled tight, his forearms ached from the strain. Watching her practice to drive such a person off, he wanted nothing more than to storm out of here and hunt down every pig that might look at her like a piece of flesh to be taken. Do _something _to remove the threat so that she need never—

"Warrior."

Vilkas snapped upright and almost lunged for the Altmer magister standing before him, driven by his Blood's demand for action. Even recognizing her, it was struggle to draw back. This mer hated him. That much was clear. The few times they'd crossed paths, she'd had nothing but black looks for him. And yet, she was attentive to his female. She softened when speaking with Deanne, often in doing so in quiet, patient tones, encouraging and instructing Deanne in her attempts at the Destruction. Couldn't fault the mer for that.

And…it was his own damned fault for getting worked up over this self-defense lesson. So Vilkas took a couple deep breaths and forced his clenched hands to fall limp before meeting the Altmer's eyes straight on.

She proceeded to perform a complete appraisal of him, from top to bottom. Vilkas itched under the overview. And when she'd finished, "A word, if you please." She didn't wait for a response, and turned for the door, expecting him to follow. It didn't seem like a request.

Vilkas growled softly—he didn't like being told what to do by a mage—but rose from his seat. Across the room Deanne was releasing repeated bursts of electricity at the target immediately in front of her. The Nord mage caught the Companion's look and shifted between them again. Vilkas scowled.

"She is safer here than you are," the Altmer informed him.

He turned to find the Altmer magister looking back at him, waiting. He grunted, cast one last glance toward Deanne—this seemed alright—then followed. They went down the vaulted hallway, past a few doors and into a small workroom. It was dark, bare. There were some stone…things on the walls, but he couldn't begin to guess what their purpose was.

The click of the door's latch snapped his attention back. The Altmer had closed them in. She turned and gave him another once-over. The hairs on the back of his neck rose. In here, with those unsettling gold eyes, he felt like he was getting sized up for a coffin. She returned her gaze to his face and clasped her hands primly behind her back. "Now then, I should like to know what your intentions are toward Deanne."

Just like that, he was on the defensive. "That's none of your damned business."

The Altmer's eyes flashed. "I beg to differ." She stepped closer to him; small, even steps. But with each one, her presence grew. "Deanne is a ward of this College. Her wellbeing is our responsibility. And you have shown an inordinate amount of interest in her. That _makes_ this my business." The room got smaller and Vilkas did his utmost not to cringe away from the womer who, despite being of even height with him, seemed to loom. Even his beast couldn't decide whether to fight or flee. And when his wolf spirit seriously considered running, it was warning enough the situation was dire. The Altmer stopped mere feet from him and repeated articulately, "What are your intentions, warrior?"

Vilkas shoved his pride away. Now wasn't the time to court death with a mage who looked ready to end him. So he took a breath to answer—and stopped short. The immediate danger of the magister faded a little as the realization rose that…he didn't have an answer to the question. The Companion exhaled, knitted his brow in thought. "I…I don't know."

The Altmer's eyebrow lifted. "You don't know?"

"No, I don't…" Shor's bones, what were his intentions? Now that he thought about it…he wasn't sure, precisely, what his intentions were.

"Do you mean to bed her?" she asked curtly.

Vilkas's bared his teeth. "It's not like that!" he snapped.

The Altmer blinked evenly at him. Rather than try to glare her down, Vilkas stewed in his own thoughts. It wasn't about bedding her. It had never been about bedding her. Aye, he wanted to. But that wasn't all. He…wanted to be close to her. Like this morning. To hold her. To talk with her. Even with her vulnerable and in his lap, it was her sorrow, not her body, that directed his response. Because this between them was more than just bedding. She was pure in a way that made him feel less filthy. She knew he was a beast, and still treated him like a man. She embraced him, trusted him, wanted him even, despite what he was. She made him want to do better, to be worthy of what she gave so freely.

"…I see."

Vilkas's attention snapped back to the Altmer to find her watching him again. But the hostility was less.

She folded her arms and told him plainly, "Deanne is dear to me. I consider her my personal responsibility. You seem, at least, to have more on your mind than sex. I am pleased to see this. And I expect your intentions to be decorous when you settle on them. Because if they are not," the hardness returned and the hairs on his neck leapt up straight again. She turned those frightful gold eyes on him, and he saw within the ferocity of a firestorm, inescapability of an avalanche, and the raw power of a thunderbolt. "If Deanne should come to harm by your actions—physically or emotionally—I will seek you out, I _will_ find you…and I will _incinerate _you."

XXX

The self-defense course had gone about as well as could be expected. The idea of hurting people made Deanne's skin itch, but she managed the Destruction spells today well enough to satisfy Faralda—who disappeared for a little while somewhere in there. So did Vilkas, about the same time. Deanne wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't had her Eye open at the time, or if Onmund hadn't been hovering. The apprentice's proximity made Deanne realize this was the first time she had had Vilkas with her while around other members of the College—apprentices or magisters. Given Onmund's reaction, having met Vilkas the way he had, Deanne was worried what Faralda's would be. And then, as if to prove her point, they disappeared at the same time.

But not for too long, at least. Just as Deanne was wondering if she ought to take the time to find them, the two returned as quietly as they'd left. Deanne wanted to walk over and speak with Vilkas, ask him what had happened. If anything had happened. But Faralda took up the next set of exercises immediately and Deanne wasn't given the chance. It was all to coincidental and made Deanne worry if the Destruction Master had done something…unpleasant. When the chance came, she asked Faralda precisely that.

The Magister replied softly, "I had a conversation with him."

"Why?"

"To be sure his reasons for being here were the right ones."

Deanne felt just a little put out. Wasn't this exactly what she'd been worried about? "I don't need to be protected from him."

Faralda patted her shoulder and spoke with a smile. "And now I am reassured of that." Which startled Deanne long enough for Faralda to turn the ward's attention back to the exercises.

She'd expected Faralda to be firmly _against _Deanne associating with him. She had to know that Deanne had been spending a great deal of time alone with him over the last week. She had to! Yet she didn't lecture on consequences and safety and the dangers of being alone with a man, and what might come of it.

That topic, as it turned out, was broached by another.

The day ended with Deanne bidding Vilkas farewell at the gate with her friends nearby. Deanne was reticent about kissing him goodbye with an audience. And her friends were definitely not leaving. They were barely pretending not to be watching. She could _feel_ their eyes on her back.

Amidst her worrying, Vilkas pecked her cheek and whispered that he would see her again tomorrow, in the evening after her classes. After this morning, perhaps it as good that their parting was so brief.

By the time the four mages sat down to dinner in the Hall of Attainment and Deanne assumed everything had gone well. At least until Onmund, who'd been remarkably quiet all day and was currently stabbing at his food, stated, "I don't like him."

J'Zargo snorted. "Yes, we could all tell this."

Deanne bit her lip. She wanted her friends to like him. Vilkas had been as good today around them as he'd ever been to her. He hadn't even said a word when J'Zargo started openly praising himself, though Deanne suspected it had been a near thing. "You just have to get to know him. He's a good man—"

"I don't have to get to know him. I already know what kind of man he is, and that's enough." He set his utensil down and said seriously, "You shouldn't be alone with him anymore, either."

"I've been alone with him plenty. He's been nothing but kind and courteous."

"Yeah, I saw how 'courteous' he was this morning," Onmund retorted sourly.

Brelyna caught the whiff of implication like a tracking hound. "This morning? What happened this morning?"

Onmund replied, "I walked in on him in our bathing room, half-naked, with Deanne in his _lap_!"

Brelyna gasped and rounded on Deanne, mock-scandalized. "Deanne! What will people think?!"

The whole table jumped when someone slammed their hands down on it, making the dishes clatter. "This is serious!" Onmund shouted. "You think this is a joke? For fun? Do you realize what could have happened if I hadn't come in when I did? What he could have done to her?!"

Brelyna was unimpressed and supplied sarcastically, "I'm guessing he would have made sweet, sweet love to her right there on the tile floor."

"Stendarr's mercy, you have no idea how the world works, do you? The kind of people who are out there. What they'll do to women like Deanne if given the chance."

Deanne attempted to defuse the growing tension. "Onmund, he's not like that. I know what you saw—"

"No, you don't know," he yelled at her. "You don't know about men like him. You don't know the Companions. But I do. I grew up on stories about them. About what happens in their mead hall. How they're an example that any true 'Son of Skyrim' should emulate. But believe me, I've heard them all. Every single one. And do you know what they're doing in all those stories? Fighting, drinking and bedding as many women as they can, whenever they can! That's the kind of people they are. That's the kind of man _he is_. He wouldn't be a Companion otherwise."

The whole room was fairly shocked into silence by his outburst. Deanne couldn't believe he would say such things about Vilkas without… "Those are just stories…He's not like that."

"Yes, he is—"

"No, he's not—"

"He is! And I can't believe you're buying into it. You think he's here because you're good company? You think he's going to linger up here in that frozen ruin of a town just because he likes you?"

"He does like me," Deanne declared, her own volume rising. "And I know he won't stay up here forever. I know that."

"I saw him with you this morning," Onmund went on. "And today during the seminar. The way he was…touching you. And staring at you. I could see it, Deanne. He doesn't 'like' you. He wants to—to _screw _you. And he didn't care who knew it, either."

"So what if he does?!" The words were out of her mouth before she thought them through. And followed up quickly with, "What would be so wrong with that?!"

Onmund demanded, "And you're alright with that? With being treated like a whore? That the only reason he's still here is because he wants to get under your robes? And that, as soon as he does, he'll leave without a second thought?"

"Maybe I am!" Deanne shouted back, coming to her feet. "Maybe I don't mind! Maybe I'd let him! Maybe I want it, too!"

That shut Onmund up and, if possible, left the room even more silent than before. Deanne felt heat rushing into her face. Not from embarrassment, but rather from an unfamiliar tangled rush of emotion. The reactions were the same as those of sorrow—tears pricking in her eyes, breathing that came in staggered increments. But she wasn't sad. She was angry. Furious! And _frustrated_!

She dragged in a breath and kept going. "Maybe I like that he wants me that way. Maybe this is the first time anyone ever has! Maybe I never thought anyone ever would, and now someone does and I don't _care_ why. Did you ever think of that?! Maybe I've lived my entire life thinking that no one would ever look at me and think I was beautiful. Maybe I thought no one would ever want to be with me like that. That I'd never know what it was like! That I'd go my whole life without anyone _wanting_ me, or touching me, or treating me like I was desirable. Did you ever think of that? Did you?!"

There wasn't a sound in the whole Hall. Even the focal point seemed to be holding its breath. Or maybe it was behind the ringing in her ears.

"…Deanne…You can't—"

"Shut up! Yes, I can!" she shouted at him. No, she wasn't done yet. "I am not a whore because I want to feel wanted by someone. Or because I want to be with someone who wants to be with me. That doesn't make me a whore!"

"I didn't mean—"

"I said _shut_ _up_!" Deanne was more furious than she'd ever been. And frustrated! Divines, she felt like she might burst. "You don't get to tell me what I can and can't do, who I can and can't spend my time with, or _how_! That's my choice, and I'll make it! And if I want to…to _be _with someone, then that's my choice, too. And if it happens, there will be nothing wrong with it, because it will be what I want. And you don't have any right to take that choice from me!"

At least he had the decency to sound contrite. "Deanne, I'm not talking about taking anything like that from you. I'm saying he's not what you think he—"

"I know him. A lot better than you do. I don't care what you've heard about the Companions. I don't care what you've been told about them. I know Vilkas. I know what kind of man _he_ is. And you don't. So don't you dare try and tell me you know better than me about him, because you don't. And I won't hear it!" She took deep breaths, filled to the brim with this alien sense of…fortitude. This moment, there was no one and nothing that could shake her. And no voice in the whole hall tried.

Deanne stormed out of the dining room before it deserted her, all the way down the stairs to her bedchamber. Behind her, she just heard J'Zargo remark flatly, "Smooth." Then she slammed her door shut.

There was just enough energy left for her to throw the lock before all that fortitude fled away. A sob tore out of her throat and she used the last of her energy to throw threw herself onto the bed.

Why? Why did he have to say such hateful things about the man she cared about? About her? Vilkas wasn't a bad man. And he did care about her. She knew he did! And she _wasn't_ a whore. And Vilkas didn't treat her like one. He treated her well, gently, considerately, caringly. So why had Onmund said it? Why?!

She twisted, burying her sobs in her pillow. Daedra take him, then. She didn't care. He was wrong, so she didn't care. Divine, she wanted Vilkas to be here right now. She wanted him to hold her and tell her he cared about her. But he wasn't. He was down in the inn, and that completely reasonable distance made her feel so _alone_ right now. She didn't want to be alone, she wanted…someone. Not her friends; not after what just happened. Just—

Deane twisted in bed to cast a spell. Fang sensed her mood at their first contact and appeared to immediately hopped up beside her. Deanne sobbed and threw her arms around his neck as soon as he was close enough. "I'm sorry. I haven't called you so often lately, have I?" Fang squirmed up against her and draped himself over her legs where Deanne buried her face in his spectral fur.

She didn't care. Onmund was wrong, so she didn't care, whatever he said.

So why did the tears still come so strong?

XXX

As Vilkas ascended the pathway to the College the next morning, he tried to push away his irritation.

He'd thought it had stopped. That being around her would somehow stop it from happening. And it had. At least until last night when—

The Companion caught sight of Deanne in her mantle, pacing just beyond the gate and everything else dropped to the wayside. The instant she noticed him—he still couldn't figure out how she did that—the woman threw open the gate and rushed into his arms like they'd been separated for months. Vilkas wrapped her up without another thought and she clung to him, heedless of the frigid temperature.

"What is it?" he asked. Something had happened.

She sniffed hard, breathing and finding relief in him. "I—Last night…Onmund and I…we fought—I yelled at him."

"About?"

Deanne turned her head, hiding her face in his shirt. "I don't want to talk about it."

And she didn't need to. Vilkas had a pretty good idea what the argument must have been. The next time he saw that mage, he was going to—

Deanne lifted her head suddenly and asked, "Do you want me?"

Whatever unpleasantries he'd been planning for the mage, the question caught Vilkas off guard. "What?"

She shifted away, but kept her hands fisted tightly in his clothing. After a moment to steady, she asked more firmly, "Do you…_want_ me?"

He took a breath to answer—that question didn't even take thought—then halted. He could answer this without thinking. But he had to. Think. Had to think this answer through. And answer right. For both of them. He gripped her shoulders and replied slowly, "Aye. Aye, I want you. I want you so badly, sometimes it hurts to resist it."

The sigh she released was remarkably like one of relief. But the sentiment didn't last long. Deanne rubbed his shirt between her fingers, then asked tentatively, "Are you…ever going to do anything about it?"

Another answer without need to think. "No."

Deanne's head jerked up, her unseeing gaze landing to the left of his nose. "Why?"

She sounded so plaintive Vilkas could feel his beast jump to life to respond—but he clamped down on it. Damn the cursed thing! To Deanne, he said, "Because I won't risk hurting you."

"I'm not afraid of you. Or your beast. Vilkas, if you want me…there's nothing wrong with that. And…" her hands tightened in his shirt, "…and I want you, too."

Vilkas felt a jolt in his groin—and shoved. It. Away! Thank the Gods he'd spent the last several months exercising this control or he might take her at her word. Right now. Probably up against the wall—Shit!

Instead, the Companion took her shoulders firmly and tried to breath through his mouth so he didn't catch as much of her scent. "What you're talking about is more dangerous than you understand."

"Vilkas, I trust you—"

"I don't!" He hadn't meant to be so sharp, but…he needed her to understand this. "The beast is primal. Baser things give it more influence—more power over me. And there's nothing more primal than fu—" he caught himself, "—than sex." He couldn't resist reaching up under her mantle and running his fingers into her hair. Gods, everything about her was soft and inviting. "Deanne, I know what you want. But we can't. Not while I'm…like this. I will not risk that. Not with you."

She wilted in front of him. It about broke his heart that the denial could hurt her so—then shocked him to realize that she desired him so. After everything. She'd been assaulted by the bandits he'd shredded in that cave where they first met. And yet she welcomed his touch and said these things. And to him. And with none of those scents that usually came off the aroused females that sidled up to him in the taverns. Everything about this, about her, about all that had been said and done between them told him that this was about _him_. About wanting, wishing to be nearer to _him_. Despite everything, she wanted it for the sake of being intimately closer to _him_. Vilkas was floored. Honored. And terrified.

She didn't understand the thing she was courting. No, he hadn't hurt her while in the form of the beast. Yes, he had managed so far to keep control of himself around her. But there was no telling how long that would hold. He couldn't anticipate his beast around her. Couldn't explain its strange behavior. It was so much more sedate in her presence, but surged to life at the slightest implication of sexual interest. And now she spoke openly of desiring him. It was so tempting. _Achingly_ tempting!

Which was precisely why he didn't dare.

But there was something he could say to ease that look on her face. "Deanne…We're looking for a cure."

"We?"

"My—" He was tempted to tell her about the Circle. About the whole situation with the Harbinger and the disagreements about what direction they would be going. But no. No, she didn't need to hear about that. But the important parts? Yes, he could tell her those. "Others like me. We're looking for a cure for the Beast Blood. A way to separate ourselves from the beast within us."

She gazed up toward him. "Is that possible?"

"Shor, I hope so." Vilkas stepped nearer and bent to rest his forehead upon hers. His sweet Deanne. Then he whispered, "I give you my word: the day I am rid of this beast I carry, I will come to you. And, if you still want me, I will make love to you as long and as deeply as I am able." Deanne gasped softly, and there was a burst of that ambrosial scent. "Is that enough?"

He gave her time to recover her mind, smirking gently at the growing flush in her cheeks—while holding his beast off from making any advances. His words were his honest intent, spoken in full. And perhaps a little payback for all her previous forwardness.

Vilkas listened to her breathing, felt the little puffs of her breath when she spoke. "Have you…found anything? Yet."

"Little. Kodlak would know better. Spends more time researching old texts nowadays than fighting."

Deanne swallowed, leaning more heavily into him and said distantly, "Perhaps…there might be something in the Arcanaeum. Something that could help you."

Vilkas blinked. "That's not a bad idea." He let his hands drop to her waist. "Shall we take a look now?"

She nodded, turning with him and coming to his side readily. Vilkas wrapped his arm around her and led her toward the College front doors. The cure couldn't be found soon enough.

**Yeeha! Yeah, Onmund really was the only option for the appearance. He's not too good with women, either, clearly. And if Faralda and Liam Neeson met, the world would explode.**

**Thank you for reading!**


	34. Path to Saarthal

**Sorta a shorty, but _oh_ if it isn't nice to put something up. Big old thanks to all you folks who have been reviewing. Reading them gives me the warm and fuzzies.**

Vilkas threw back the rest of his mead and resumed glaring at the knots in the wall behind the counter. One of the volumes he'd read today had gotten to him. 'Physicalities of Werewolves' by some twisted toad named Reman Crex. Bastard has actually imprisoned, experimented on and killed werewolves to 'observe' their transformations and 'study' the effects of common curatives, going so far as to cut open a transformed hostage while she yet lived and test cures on her inwards before she finally died of it. Vilkas turned his head and spat the bile that rose in his throat, then struck the counter and demanded another mead. It took most of the next bottle to wash away the taste.

The Arcanaeum had some material on werewolves. Most talked about them as being less than human. Cursed souls at worst, beasts at best. It got hard not to take it personally when every written word reduced him and those like him to something less than people. The books discussing cures were useless, being things he'd heard about, tried already, or were downright ridiculous. The only useful things he'd picked out were references to _other_ groups who _might_ know of cures for lycanthropy. The Glenmoril Witches Coven, for example. That one stuck out because he thought he remembered the Harbinger mentioning them at one point. Something to speak with him about.

Then there was the other matter.

"_What are your intentions?"_

That Altmer magister's question had hounded him since its asking.

Were Deanne any other female, he'd have hunted down an amulet of Mara and approached her with a proposal days ago. That's what he _wanted _to do. Life in Skyrim was hard, and too often short. When you discovered someone who made your blood rush, you acted on it; the sooner, the better. He'd never felt anything for anyone as he now felt for Deanne. And she returned it readily. This was the sort of thing that didn't happen twice before Sovngard called.

And then what? Take her back to Whiterun? Where she didn't know another living soul? Where he didn't dare sleep in the same bed as her for fear of his beast taking advantage? Where most folk looked on magic users with fear and distrust, and the only other mage she could speak to was the court wizard and canker sore, Farengar, whose company Vilkas wouldn't inflict on anyone? And what about when he went out on jobs? How often would he leave her alone and idle, waiting for him to return?

No…no, she belonged here. Here in this isolated haven for magic and those who valued it, with high strong walls and probably a cart full of magical protections he didn't know about. Where there were plenty who cared for her. Where she could learn things the rest of the province snubbed but that filled her with a sense of worth. He remembered how she'd been when they'd first met in that cave so long ago. And seeing her now? She'd _blossomed_ here. He couldn't take her away from that.

But he didn't want to leave her either.

So, what if he stayed? Winterhold was isolated, sure. And frigid cold. And damned near empty! But if the mages could bear it, Vilkas had no excuse. It wasn't like this place had many fresh warriors or man power. He could hunt. Take bounties. Sign himself up for the city guard, if it came to it. Maybe the mages could use someone with muscle around the College.

But that would mean leaving the Companions. The Circle, Kodlak, his brother. Could he…could he really do that? It wasn't like he'd never see them again. Whiterun wasn't that far away. But he would be _here_, transplanting his life to another hold for a woman.

The Companion threw back another gulp and stared ahead, wishing he could consult Kodlak. The old man always had the right words when Vilkas's mind was troubled.

A familiar voice harrumphed behind him. "I see you save your best sulking for when you're away from Jorrvaskr."

Vilkas threw a glance over his shoulder—why was he not surprised?—then turned back to the bar with dull recognition, "Shield sister." He hoped that would put off any attempt to improve his mood. He didn't want to feel better. He wanted to sit here and think. Which was not sulking.

Aela the Huntress, a fellow Companion and member of the Circle, stepped up and sat down on the stool beside him. After a moment's silence between them, she remarked, "You're still here."

"Aye," he said, absently. "I'm still here."

She ordered an ale and took a hearty swig before smirking over at him. "Guess that magelet's giving you trouble, eh?"

Vilkas shot her a dark glare. How did she know about that? He'd only mentioned Deanne in passing after returning from leaving her in Winterhold, and never enough that anyone might think—

Aela chuckled at him. "Skjor mentioned a mage girl had caught your eye and you'd stayed behind. I wouldn't think it would take you _this_ long to catch her. You've a better record than that."

Vilkas growled but said nothing, fixing his eyes back on a knot in the wall.

Aela whistled in appreciation. "She must really be making you work for it. Any of us could have warned you: mages are a different sort. Not worth the effort—"

"—Why are you here, Aela?" he snapped.

She caught the abnormal hostility and sobered. No. No japing tonight. He wasn't in the mood. She replied evenly, "I'm here to bring you back to Jorrvaskr."

Vilkas's jaw stiffened and he grumbled, "Talk to Kodlak. He'll know why I'm up here." Hadn't their Harbinger told him this was a good idea in the first place, coming up to find her?

"I did. He's the one who sent me to ask you back."

Vilkas glanced sideways at her. "Did he? Why?"

Her next words were grim. "The High King has been murdered." The already quiet inn seemed to still even further. The innkeeper halted in the cleaning of a tankard, the nearest patrons ceased their conversation.

Vilkas stared at his fellow for several long seconds. This sure wasn't something you heard every day. "…How? When?"

Aela returned to her drink as she answered, "A couple weeks ago. Word is Ulfric Stormcloak walked into the Blue Palace and challenged King Torygg for the throne. Then Shouted him to pieces."

Vilkas grimaced. A bloody way to go. But it didn't explain— "What does this have to do with me? The Companions don't deal in politics."

"Doesn't mean this won't change things." She glanced at the inn keeper, who was no longer pretending not to listen and was now struggling with whether or not to interrupt them for details. "Word hasn't reached all the holds yet. Kodlak thinks the Circle should be on hand while the provinces do whatever it is they're going to do about this."

He snorted. War. She meant war. The whole province had been dancing around it for years now. This was just the sort of thing that would get folks up in arms, one way or another. There might even be a worthy cause in there somewhere, but Vilkas doubted it. If it were just Aela calling him back, he'd have argued and stayed put. But Kodlak? There was a reason they listened to him. Aela was right. Things were going to change. And if Kodlak thought Vilkas should be back in Jorrvaskr for it, then that's where he should be. Dammit.

Vilkas made to drain his bottle—and found it empty. When had that happened? "Give me a few days."

"For your magelet?" she accused.

He scowled back but came up short. There was something in her eyes, beneath the teasing. Something scrutinizing. He didn't like it. Vilkas swallowed down his retort. Now wasn't the time to close up and get indignant. "She's going to a tomb inland for research. I promised to escort her—them. Their apprentice lot." It was weak. Maybe he could say it was a job. But Aela would see through that in a blink.

He braced, expecting an argument. But it never came. Rather, she took another deep swig of ale and said, "Guess I better get a room then," and signaled the inn keeper over.

Vilkas snapped at her, "I need no keeper. I'll return when I'm done here."

She smirked. "And miss the chance to meet the one who's so… 'enchanted' you?" She chuckled. "I think not."

Vilkas scowled as Aela paid for a room and the inn keeper proceeded to bed her ear for details on the king's death. Vilkas wasn't listening. Though he wouldn't be surprised if the Jarl himself showed up in here for confirmation tonight or tomorrow.

A few days. Looked like Vilkas would need to settle on his 'intentions' sooner than later.

XXX

The day of their expedition to Saarthal, Vilkas arrived in the company of another Companion who introduced herself as Aela the Huntress. Magister Tolfdir, their chaperone and head of the expedition, welcomed her readily, as he had Vilkas. Deanne wondered if it was less to do with having an armed escort and more to do with having another body to carry things to the tomb.

As the magisters began divvying up the burdens to account for their newest escort, J'Zargo took the opportunity to whisper, "Do all Companions smell of wet dog, then?" in an aside to Onmund. Onmund, wisely, made no reply.

She and Onmund hadn't spoken since that argument. Deanne felt embarrassed, yet still completely justified in her outburst. So she'd avoided him, and Onmund had made no attempt to bridge the gap. Not that they'd had much time to think through who would apologize for what. After proving themselves proficient in the application of defensive magics, Magister Tolfdir had accelerated preparations for the expedition to Saarthal. As Brelyna suggested, all four of them had volunteered to take part, even Deanne, though not quite as the united quartet they had been before. Since then, their time had been filled to capacity with study and preparations related to the excursion. Deane found it all a welcome distraction.

This was so exciting. And terrifying. A tremendous venture on her part. They wouldn't be gone for as long as they originally planned. But Deanne would be miles from the familiar, magicka saturated halls of the College. Further than she'd been since arriving. They would be walking the entire distance, taking everything they thought they would need.

Fearful questions flew into her mind. Could she keep up? What if she forgot something? What would she do if she got separated from the group? Could she find her way back to the College on her own if she had to? What if they encountered danger in the ruin? Could she defend herself in a real fight? What if she got lost inside the ruin? Or she got hurt? Or someone else got hurt? What if, what if?!

As though she could tell, Faralda appeared for one last fussing. "You're going to be fine," she insisted, tucking Deanne's mantle into her outer robes.

"I hope so," Deanne replied, feeling more pressure to appear calm in front of the magister. At least…mostly. "Are you sure you can't come?"

Faralda sighed. "Given recent events, it is better if I remain lest the College require defending. Some may take this conflict as an opportunity to try and do us harm." She lightened and said warmly, "You'll be fine." She hugged Deanne close. "Stay safe. Listen to Tolfdir. Learn lots. And bring us home something interesting." Deanne beamed and hugged her back, holding on as long as she could. Even if it would only be a few days, this goodbye felt more significant. When Faralda drew back, she aimed herself at Vilkas. "And you, warrior."

He halted immediately. "Yes, ma'am."

"Remember my words."

"…Yes, ma'am."

One last hug before Tolfdir called out, "Well then, let's get underway. Before Mirabelle changes our itinerary again." There were some chuckles and the lifting of burdens onto shoulders. Then the College gates swung open and they were on their way.

On the overpass, clinging to Brelyna's arm, Deanne had the chance to ask, "Vilkas, what words were she talking about?"

"Nothing," Vilkas assured her. And she was sure it was not.

They passed through part of Winterhold, then turned right and began to climb. And climb. And _climb_. Deanne had a dim recollection of Vilkas carrying her down this hill long ago. She didn't remember it being so steep. Or tall. The group needed several stops to rest. "Almost enough to persuade one to summon an atronach to carry us, isn't it?" Tolfdir joked. The apprentices didn't even have the breath to laugh. Deanne thought she heard an unfamiliar woman mutter, _mages_.

At one of the stops, Vilkas came to Deanne's side. "I'll take her."

"Thank—you," Brelyna gasped, huffing her pack into a better position.

Deanne transferred to his arm and hung on as they, once again, began trudging up the steep incline.

"You alright?" he asked.

Deanne could only manage a clumsy nod.

"I can take that if you wish," he offered, doubtless referencing her pack.

Deanne shook her head, managing words amidst her gasped breaths. "No. I want—to do it. I know—I can do this."

There was a fondness in Vilkas's reply. "I've no doubt. I'm right here if you need me."

She was not going back now. Not after everything they'd all done to get out here in the first place. She was going to see this through.

Deanne knew when they reached the top—or almost the top—when the incline began leveling out and a current of wind picked up to strike them all in the face. It whistled around stone faces and extrusions around them. A pass through the ridge that stood between Winterhold and the rest of the continent. Deanne focused entirely on putting one foot in front of the other as the stone faces around them drew away. It was almost a shock that she so quickly recognized the tundra when they left the pass and the flat expanse appeared in front of them. She might have asked to be sure, but that would mean giving up some of the air she was breathing. And she wasn't capable of that just yet.

"Come along," Tolfdir encouraged, far more energetic than an older man ought to be. "All downhill from here."

The apprentices groaned, but followed obediently behind. The Companions gave no sign of complaint.

She stayed on Vilkas's arm as they did indeed begin to walk down, trudging through ankle deep snow. Which got rather hard rather quickly. Vilkas had carried her on his back when they'd come this way all that time ago, so she'd never had the experience of trudging through snow. And was rather wishing she still didn't. Who would have thought walking in such material would take so much more effort! And after the _climb_. But she didn't complain. Didn't ask how much further. Didn't ask if they could stop and rest. And not just because she didn't have the breath for it. She didn't know where this sudden sense of pride had come from, but she clung to it none the less. She could _do_ this.

So focused was she on managing it that she didn't notice something happening ahead until Vilka took her wrist and brought her to a stop. Even then, she missed Tolfdir's exchange with a stranger.

"-Vilkas? What's—happening?"

He didn't answer immediately. But he did shift her somewhat behind him. "Not sure." She felt the tension in him, and her exhaustion was quickly replaced by anxiety.

Deanne grasped his forearm that held her and tucked in close as Tolfdir declared, "I wouldn't call any of it valuable, strictly speaking. We're on our way to an excavation, you see. Mostly digging and notational tools."

Had everyone just moved closer?

She strained to hear over the wind. "Vilkas?"

He adjusted where she stood, away from his weapon, then murmured low, "I think we're about to be ambushed."

Ambushed? Deanne gasped and tightened her grip. _Bandits_! All at once she was back in that cart, alone, amidst strangers in a strange land, hiding under the seat behind bags and boxes, frozen with fear, listening to the sounds of battle and death all around her, praying to go unseen. She couldn't breath. Couldn't think.

Vilkas squeezed her wrist firmly. "They're not going to touch you. I won't let them anywhere near you."

She clung to those words—and his arm—waiting for the hammer to fall. And she wasn't the only one. Yes, everyone had most certainly drawn in closer.

"Friggin' mages," came the angry speech. "We'll take it from yer corpses then." He let out a yell and there were answering cries around them, snow drifts burst around them and crunched under eager feet as the ambush was sprung.

"Move!" Vilkas yelled, hauling Deanne sideways and unsheathing the blade from his back. There were a few dull thunks in the snow. Arrows? Gods no! She felt surges of magicka all around them: the violent bursts of Destruction, definitive clinks of Alteration spells encasing flesh. The lumbering steps of a frost atronach could be heard. Toldir was calling for everyone to stay together. J'Zargo was shouting challenges and insults. It was madness! She didn't know what was going on!

Vilkas spun this way and that, then chose a position and pulled her behind him. Deanne felt the reverberation of a blow as his blade met another. Gods, what was she supposed to do?! The only answer seemed to be to go where he urged while trying not to impede him. She felt him angle left, then right. She scrambled back two steps with him before he twisted, yanking her around behind him. Deanne lost her footing and staggered, pulling his arm taut to keep from falling. Vilkas grunted and Deane felt a surge of terror that he'd taken a blow because of her! Then he roared and lunged. His opponent let out a yell. Vilkas heaved his blade up and brought it down. One last sound and his enemy went quiet

Vilkas gasped and tugged her to his back. "You alright?"

"Yes," Deanne whimpered. She'd almost gotten him _killed_. "Are you—?"

"Aye, I'm fine. Come on."

He pulled her toward the cluster of apprentices. Deanne stumbled up against the outcrop they were huddled against, Vilkas positioning her somewhere in the center of the group, keeping hold of her hand and staying between her and the sounds of the attackers. Was anyone hurt? How many bandits were attacking? What was she supposed to do?

Somewhere outside their cluster, the other Companion yelled, "Vilkas! Dammit, get out here!"

He hesitated, wrapping his hand further around her wrist. Her heart tore. '_Please don't leave me!' _Her stomach dropped like when she'd stumbled in the snow. _'—I'll get him killed protecting me!'_

Vilkas jerked, then demanded, "Brelyna, can you take her?"

Immediately to the right, "What? –Yeah."

The Dunmer's arm hooked Deanne's elbow, but Deanne couldn't get her hand to let go of him. "Vilkas."

He swept close and kissed her swiftly. "I'll come back."

Tears sprang to her eyes, heat and pressure to her cheeks—but she let go. She let go, he slipped from her hand and Vilkas was gone, charging for the enemy with a battle cry of his own.

Deanne curled into Brelyna, the nonsensical sounds of the fight clamoring into her head. She heard Vilkas. Heard him yell, and others yell from his direction. Who was he fighting? Was he winning? Were they winning?

"Brelyna, what's happening?"

For all that she could see what was going on, Brelyna seemed as flustered as Deanne was. "I…I don't—Ah!" The Dunmer leapt back as something burst in the snow at their feet, pulling Deanne with her and crushing her thigh into the outcrop.

Onmund cursed right next to them. "They keep moving. I can't hit any of them!"

And how was Deanne supposed to help? What could she do?!

J'Zargo yowled from a different location—had he been hurt?—then started firing off explosive fireballs. How long could he keep that up? Where was everyone? Onmund and Ysra were right here. But where was Tolfdir? Where was Vilkas?

"Brelyna what's going on?! How many are there?" Deanne demanded.

"I can't tell. I can't—"

Onmund cursed again. "Shit, I'm out. Can't believe I actually wish for an axe right now."

Ysra screamed and fell into the snow.

"Ysra!" Onmund hurried over and pulled her closer in, the four of them huddling together.

Then…someone charged them. Deanne heard it. Heard them coming. Roaring as they came barreling down the slope toward the apprentices, sounding like an avalanche.

They weren't ready.

"Brelyna! Brelyna, do something!" Onmund yelled.

"I…I can't…" The womer stumbled over her words, stock still as the bandit came at them.

"Brelyna!" Deanne shook her friend, cold fear condensing on her spine.

"…"

"Brelyna!" She was the only one. Ysra was down, Onmund was spent, Deanne was blind. She had to do something! "_Brelyna_!"

The bandit closed the distance, unstoppable. Deanne's whole body pulled taut. He was going to kill them. They were going to die unless someone—!

The icy fear siphoned out of her spine and down her arms—and into her hands. Deanne feeling it crystalize between her palms, then jerked them out and threw it all forward with a prayer, a shard of frost slicing through the air.

There was a grunt—the bandit's steps faltered—an impact only feet away. And a shallow wave of snow rolled forward to break against Deanne's legs.

…Had…had it hit him? She couldn't hear him anymore. Had she…?

As clear as her mind had been before, everything went dull just as quickly. The spells, the fight, the wind. It all faded, a strange curtain falling over her senses.

…Was he…?

She was vaguely aware of people talking and someone taking her hands, but couldn't make any of it out.

…Had she…?

When Deanne was next aware, she was inside. No more wind or snow. She was sitting on a stone…something. The air was still and cold, dusty and close. There was heat in front of her. The warm crackle of a campfire. People were talking in subdued tones not far off, her friends among them. It was hard to pull herself out of…what had just happened. The warmth of the flames helped. Deanne lifted her hand shakily, feeling the heat waft over her skin. So different from the cold when she'd…when she'd…

Her hands started trembling and a sob tore out of her throat.

Vilkas appeared at her side—thank the Gods! He sat beside her, close enough to feel but not touch. Their only contact was in the gentle taking of her hands, like he was afraid to spook her. "Deanne? Hey, you alright?"

She didn't have an answer to that. Could barely hear her own thoughts, they were so far away. But her hands wouldn't stop shaking. Even when she latched them around his, they wouldn't stop _shaking_.

Deanne gasped, breathing as best she could until the first recognizable thought surfaced. "…Is he…is he dead?"

Vilkas massaged circles in the back of her hands. "Aye. He is."

She inhaled, then choked, her voice wavering. "I…_killed_ _him_."

Not a question. And Vilkas didn't answer. Just twisted one hand free and wrapped it around her shoulders, pulling her to him. He'd taken off his armor and Deanne sank into his body as the sobs spilled out.

"I didn't want to. I didn't want to hurt _anyone_. _Why_?! Why did they _attack_ us? Why did they—" She fell apart, sobs wracking her body, weeping for what she'd been made to do. "I didn't want to! I didn't want to!"

Vilkas held her close, rocking her and murmuring gently as she cried, "I'm here. I'm right here."

**Eep! Vilkas. Yes, yes, yes, we love him. But, oh dear. Aela poking around. And poor little Deanne killing someone. Ugh! **

**By the way, how many of you just love that enemy spawn point over the ridge. Just lovely, isn't it?**


	35. Bit of a Fixer Upper

**Hello, hello! You guys are so patient, and here is my offering. This one took some chewing on, but it's all finished now so be happy! And no, I couldn't help the title. Sue me! No, no, don't sue me****—!  
**

**Um...I feel I should say: f-bomb warning. Be mature, and I expect you to use these big kid words responsibly. Beyond that, enjoy!**

The encounter with the bandits dampened the excitement of the expedition's beginning. Deanne found herself rather adrift the first few days, missing most of Tolfdir's initial lecture and instructions regarding the state of the site.

She'd taken a life. How was she supposed to go back to normal after that? She didn't even know who he was…had been. What was his name? Had he become a bandit by choice? Or had he been forced into the life? What about family? Was there anyone who would miss him now that he was gone? Anyone who would wonder where he was or if he was coming back? How had he spent his free time? Had he had any hopes or dreams? Plans for the future? She would never know. And no one else would either. Because of what she'd done; what she'd taken.

Magister Tolfdir was gentle when he offered, "I can have someone take you back to the College, if you would wish, my dear. The way is likely safe for now. And I am certain none would blame you."

But Deanne shook her head. "No. I…I want to stay. We…we came all the way out here. I don't want to go back now. I just…I just need…some time."

"Of course, of course. You just let me know when you need to step aside. Saarthal isn't going anywhere, I assure you."

She tried to take part, she really did. They were here to study early Nord architecture—or what remained standing of it. It was what she'd come for. And she really tried. But then, often out of nowhere, the guilt and sorrow would surge up within her. Deanne got little warning. Barely had enough time to step out of sight—she hoped—before it surged up, greater than she could bear, to drown her. '_What have I done? What have I done?—_'

Then Vilkas would be there. He would bring her within his arms, where she was safe from bandits and trolls and…judgement. And the sorrow would spill out of her. Again and again. And he just took it. Gods, why was this always the way? Why couldn't she be strong in the face of something, just once?! But he was there. And she could not be more grateful. Vilkas was there, without hesitation, giving her strength when her own wasn't enough, when she couldn't hold herself together. She would cry and cling to him until it passed. Then he would hold her until she could stand on her own again. And only then—Divines, how wonderful was he?—he would let her go, step aside so she could return to the other apprentices and pretend, for a little longer, that she could bear having done what she had. Gods, she couldn't imagine getting through this without him.

It got better. As the apprentices worked their way through the ruin under Magister Tolfdir's guidance, Deanne's episodes became fewer. They looked for tampering amidst the tombs to indicate previous exploration, and she wouldn't cry quite so long. They searched for residual energies, alive or undead, and she wouldn't cry quite so hard. They checked for warding magics, and she managed to hold herself together but for a few tears that leaked, hot, over her cheeks. If not for Vilkas, Deanne might have given up and gone back to the College. He gave her the support she needed to stay. And it got better.

"Deanne. Brelyna," Magister Tolfdir's call pulled Deanne from her thoughts. "Arniel Gane is in the process of mapping one of the clear wings off the second chamber. Would you be so kind as to assist him? Second floor, north side."

"Yes, sir," Deanne replied softly, hearing her friend's acceptance nearby. Deanne waited for Brelyna to come retrieve her and followed her guidance toward their new assignment. And…Yes, there he was. She felt Vilkas's presence following behind them and her shoulders loosened a little. He was still there, still with her. A different surge of guilt ran through her over keeping him here. Perhaps she should talk to him later about his returning to Whiterun.

Traversing the ruins took all of Deanne's concentration, a welcome distraction from…the other matter. The ruin of Saarthal was enormous, comprised primarily of two large chambers with multiple levels and offshooting wings, and was…well, in ruins. The once impressive settlement had fallen to age and neglect. Bridges had crumbled, wings had collapsed in on themselves, parts of the walls and ceiling had fallen blocking walkways and access. With the sheer volume of rubble, it would be too time-consuming to clear it all while still performing their investigation of the tomb. So, going from one location to another most often meant clambering over some obstruction and tripping over debris.

It was difficult, particularly for Deanne. She'd gathered a number of bumps and bruises from knocking into things and losing her footing on loose stones. She needed a close escort whenever they moved, and even then her feet and shins found regular obstacles. Still, it kept her mind from wandering to…other things. The combination of Saarthal's mazelike interior with a millenia's worth of rubble and degradation meant that Deanne kept religiously aware of everyone around her. It would be too easy to be left behind and get lost in here. Although, maybe she needn't have worried about that with Vilkas and her friends so near all the time.

The second chamber of Saarthal was largely identical to the first, save that there were more wings off the main area left clear to explore. Brelyna and Deanne made their way to the wing in question, passing over stonework where the connecting bridges were still intact and over wooden planks where they weren't.

Arniel Gane was intensely involved in his annotations on their arrival. After a several seconds without recognition, Brelyna cleared her throat loudly. Arniel's attention snapped around almost violently. "Gah!" There was a thump, a flutter of papers, something of glass toppled and another of ceramic wobbled on its base. He squawked and leapt to right everything, snatching the papers up and seizing at the ceramic something before it fell. All fell still and he gave a sigh of relief—then rounded on the apprentices. "Shor, what is wrong with you, sneaking up on people like that? The ink is—! Do you realize what could have happened? This is my _work_!"

Brelyna's voice was much smaller than usual. "Sorry, sir. Uh—Tolfdir said you needed help."

"What? Help?" Something clicked. "Oh, you. I remember you. The 'sensitive' one. Yes, I remember now. You're going to help me here? That's fine. Just…Just don't make a mess of my work." Deanne realized he was referring to her specifically and…was pleased about it? But the researcher had already moved on. "I've only looked through a portion of this section. It's the most intact part of the ruin. I need you to do a sweep of the area. Note down any residual magics. If you discover any artifacts, note down the location, then bring them up to the table for cataloging. Enchanted artifacts, in particular. The usefulness of the enchantment is irrelevant. And…I suppose your class can look them over later."

Oh. Yes. Her 'Eye' made Deanne an invaluable resource on this expedition. Every time they entered a new section, she was often paired with another and asked to map any residual magic in the area. A useful task she was perfect for.

If only there was anything here to find.

This place, Saarthal—the entire ruin—was dead. In every sense. The air was stale and heavy. As soon as the expedition stopped moving around, the silence descended on them, smothering. There was no magic to be found or 'seen'. Nothing. Not even a trace. She'd gotten so used to opening her 'Eye' and seeing magic in the walls, in the very air they breathed. Now, being somewhere without it…This place felt like a dead thing. A body, long separated from its eternal soul. That they were scavenging for some trace of its long-distant life only strengthened the parallel. Onmund had talked with resistance about disturbing his ancestor's bones and wishing to leave the dead to rest. These might not be her ancestors, but she understood well what he meant.

Even in this mostly intact wing, it was all the same: no sign of anything significant. A few sparkling trinkets here or there under the dust. The rest of it, dead. Like…like…

—'_What have I done?'—_

'_No, no, no, not now. Not again.'_ Deanne clung to Brelyna's arm and pointed herself at the task ahead. Find magic. Just…just find whatever was here.

While Deanne and Brelyna began exploring the wing, Arniel continued with what he was doing. "You, uh—Companion."

"Vilkas," the man supplied curtly from where he'd stationed himself.

"Yes, yes. These artifacts need to get up to our staging area outside. If you would just carry this…these here…just a few." Arniel's might not be outright demanding, but his 'hints' were anything but subtle if Deanne could read them.

Vilkas grumbled softly, but crossed over to the women. Deanne turned to meet him and the broad hand that pressed to the small of her back. "You'll be alright?"

"Yes. I think so," she replied.

He sighed, resigned. "Then I suppose I'll be right back."

"And I'll be here," Deane promised.

Vilkas kissed her forehead and turned back to Arniel, growling, "Alright, mage, what am I carrying?"

Disgruntled though he was, Deanne appreciated how well he was willing to work with the others from the College. Vilkas allowed himself to be loaded up with whatever Arniel Gane had found thus far, and followed the researcher out of the wing to traverse Saarthal's maze-like paths toward the entrance. Deanne thought she could hold herself together until he came back. Focus on the task and so forth, however little was likely to be discovered. Even as she could still hear the men's footsteps, Deanne forced herself back to the work.

Deanne and Brelyna, now fully alone, working their way down the first cul de sac—there were a couple small artifacts down here to be collected—when Brelyna made a sound. The sort of sound one made holding down a sob. From Brelyna?

Deanne stopped. "Is something wrong?"

Brelyna sniffed hard—why was _she_ crying?—then turned to Deanne. "I am so sorry!"

"Sorry for…Sorry for what?" What was she talking about? What did she have to be sorry for?

Brelyna wiggled free of Deanne and rubbed furiously at her face. "For before—for outside. Azura, I should have _done _something!" She thumped back gently against the passage wall, stifling what Deanne easily recognized as tears of her own. "I am so, so, _so_ sorry. Outside, when we got attacked…I'm such a s'wit! You were all counting on me. But I just…I just stood there. I saw him coming. I _saw_ him and…I just froze. I couldn't think, I couldn't…" The seconds ticked by as Brelyna fell to her own distress. "You should never have had to kill that man. It was all my fault. I should have…_done_ something! I am so sorry."

Deanne reached out, floundering until she found Brelyna's hands, which she grasped firmly. "It's alright—at least…It will be. I think." She was struck by bewilderment. Was Deanne supposed to reassure someone else when she felt anything but steady? Not knowing what else to do, the Ward leaned back against the wall beside her friend "I…know what you felt. And I don't blame you." She sighed, searching for…something to say. What was she supposed to say? "I keep thinking back to what I could have done. Anything else I could have done. I could have…cast Stoneflesh. That would have helped. Or life detect, to see where everyone was. I felt so lost in the middle of everything, that would have helped."

Brelyna fidgeted, ending up leaning more into her friend, offering her own regrets. "Flame Cloak, maybe. Or Wall. _Some_ kind of destruction spell to put them off."

"Or Fang." Deanne flushed and put a hand to her face. "Gods, I could have summoned Fang. I don't even know…With my Eye and Vilkas, I've gotten so comfortable around the College that, even away from it, I didn't think to…" The women leaned into Brelyna, finding her own comfort in the contact. "Thinking about it now, there was so much I _could _have done. But in the middle of it all…"

The womer exhaled, forlornly, "You can't think."

"…Yeah. Exactly."

The two of them stood there, caught up in the 'should's and the 'could have's.

Brelyna gave a forced laugh. "Guess we won't be adventuring around Skyrim anytime soon, huh?"

Deanne chuckled a little, also forced, the expression more for her friend's sake than that Deanne actually found the statement funny. "No, I guess not."

They stood a little bit longer, leaning into each other. It was reassuring, knowing someone else suffered the same sort of debilitation and doubts, both during and following the fight. Speaking of it together was…cathartic. How strange was it that there could be such an exchange of support while both of them struggled with their lacks? But there it was.

Brelyna coughed and finally proposed, "Well…I guess we should keep going."

"Yes, I guess we should. Arniel might wonder what we were doing the whole time."

They found each other's arms and stepped down the hall, more at ease than before, both with themselves and each other. It was good to have people to lean on.

The two mages worked their way down the first branch of the wing, finding a pair of enchanted rings toward the end, then backtracked to begin on the second. As before, there was nothing in the way of residual magics to be found, outside the rings. With nothing to 'see', Deanne was glad to hear the return of Arniel and Vilkas. At least until she realized it was not Arniel and Vilkas, but J'Zargo and Onmund coming into the wing—Correction, it was J'Zargo _dragging _Onmund into the wing.

The Khajiit hauled Onmund over to the women despite much in the way of fervent, whispered denials. J'Zargo yanked his fellow forward, declaring loudly, "J'Zargo is done listening to the Nord. Here is the blind mage. Tell your words to her. J'Zargo refuses to go back with you until you have."

As definitive as that declaration was, it didn't appear to garner the intended response. Onmund didn't speak and the women, taken off-guard by their friends' unexpected appearance, weren't sure how to proceed either. They all just stood there in silence.

J'Zargo spat in irritation. "Fine, then J'Zargo will do it."

He took a breath and Onmund burst, "No, no, don't you dare!"

Deanne could hear J'Zargo's exasperated scowl. "Then talk." Another silence followed, in which Deanne could hear Onmund's throat working, struggling with whatever he was to say. J'Zargo hissed, cross. "What is the womer working on?"

Brelyna stumbled. "—Um…We're mapping magical energies in this section—"

"Good, J'Zargo will help, let's go." He snatched Brelyna away too fast to refuse, and Deanne and Onmund were left standing alone.

The space felt terribly isolated, even with the others a short distance away. Onmund stood right in front of her, scuffing his shoes, awkwardly silent. Was she supposed to say something? She didn't even know what this was about. Their friendship hadn't been precisely comfortable since their argument. And Onmund was clearly uncomfortable. Divines, why didn't he say something?!

"…Onmund?" Her voice was a ripple through the stagnant air that wished only to be still. And it felt like the entire ruin could hear what they were saying.

"I'm—" He halted, then fidgeted, his feet pivoting around on the floor.

Waiting got her no more from him. So she guessed. "Is this about Vilkas?"

"No! …Yes? Some of it." He planted himself but couldn't seem to give a direct response. "It's not my business. You were right. It's your choice. And…and you chose him, right? So I should just… It's fine. It's fine."

It didn't seem fine. "Why do you hate him so much?"

"I don't…_hate_ him. Exactly." It was hard to believe him when he said it that way. And seemed to realize it himself. "It's who he is, that's all—Or why."

'_Not again._' Deanne braced herself, preparing for another argument, ready to defend Vilkas and her decision. "I told you he's not like you think—"

"I know, and that's… That's not the part I'm talking about." Onmund groaned and Deanne hesitated. How was she supposed to know what to say to defend Vilkas when she had no idea what was being said against him? Onmund took a deep breath. "What I mean is…he's exactly the sort of Nord my family wanted me to be. I mean, _exactly_. That warrior sort. The sort that beats around with a sword and fights. And always get everything. Always. I just…learned to accept it after a while. Then I came here and I thought, 'things'll be different here'… And they're not." Onmund didn't even seem to be talking to her anymore. "…They still always get everything…"

He sounded so defeated. Deanne's defensiveness wavered. Even after their argument, hearing him like that, she wanted to say something to comfort him. But she didn't understand what he meant!

"…Onmund—"

"It's fine," he rushed to say. Just like that he put on a persona of 'all's well'. "It's fine. You said it yourself: this is your choice. I just have to…get over it. Not the first time. I'll be fine. And keep my mouth shut. I swear."

"Al…right." Deanne couldn't get a foothold in this conversation. Was this what had driven J'Zargo to force this discussion? She couldn't see how. Unless Onmund had been talking about it a lot. But why?

He didn't give her the chance to properly form the question before Onmund posed one of his own. "So…are you going with him? When he leaves?"

That was a strange thing to ask. "No. No, I'm staying. I don't belong out there."

"But you want to." That caught her off-guard. Why was he pushing for—The man reversed before she could even consider a response. "Forget it, forget it. That's not my business. Forget I asked."

The quiet was shattered by a resounding metal crash that came from nearby and rebounded all around them, making the both of them jump out of their skin.

"Shor! Where did—? J'Zargo, what did you do?!" Onmund yelled.

The Khajiit retorted immediately from nearby, "Why do you assume it was J'Zargo? Always, J'Zargo! J'Zargo did nothing!"

"It was me. I think," Brelyna called sheepishly from further away, coming toward them. "I think it was this thing I pulled off the wall. It didn't look suspicious. What—oh."

'Oh'? What was 'oh'?

Onmund walked off toward the entrance to this branch of the wing and rattled a very solid sounding metal grate that hadn't been there before. Wait, where had that come from? He grunted with exertion, the metal making little sound to indicate shifting. "Too heavy," he finally admitted. "I can't budge it."

"Move. J'Zargo will try." The Khajiit stalked over and cast a spell before repeating Onmund's exertion. By her 'eye' it had been a Feather spell. Onmund's joined J'Zargo, but the grate refused to budge for them. J'Zargo threw himself back and cursed. "Well, this is wonderful. We are stuck!"

"Look around for a lever," Brelyna offered. "There's usually some kind of release, isn't there?"

"You were the ones mapping this wing. Why don't you tell J'Zargo where to find a lever? Because J'Zargo sees nothing!"

Onmund asserted himself. "Alright, alright, just calm down. Brelyna, why don't you try putting the necklace back. Maybe that will do it. Or something on the wall where you took it."

Brelyna went off in the direction she'd come from, and Deanne found the nearest wall to cling to and stay out of the way. Onmund and J'Zargo moved around at the grate, investigating. The Khajiit was soon skirting the remainder of the room and up the passage, muttering at corners and walls as if that might convince the solution to reveal itself. Deanne listened to their efforts, at something of a loss as to how to help. In the end, she felt her way after Brelyna, finding the womer fiddling by the furthest wall at the very end of this branch of the wing.

"Anything?" the womer called.

"No," Onmund responded. Another dull rattle, the grate firmly resisting whatever the apprentice was doing. "And I can't see anything on the other side. Was there a lever somewhere else?"

"Not that we saw."

J'Zargo circled back toward Onmund. More rattling and Khajiit curses while Brelyna kept looking around at the passage end. But none of it bore fruit. Onmund gave a sigh that could be heard from the women end and walked back to join them. "Guess we'll just have to wait until someone comes." J'Zargo came their way soon after, clearly agitated and hissing something in his native language that sounded rude, and sank down against one of the walls.

Now that the frantic 'what'–'how'–'where' had quieted, Deanne asked, "What happened, exactly?"

Brelyna realized that the situation had gone fairly over Deanne's head. "Oh! Well, I saw this amulet on the wall. I thought it looked important so…I took it off. A gate came down in the hall and I don't see any way to remove it." The last was said rather dejectedly.

J'Zargo muttered furiously, "Perhaps next time you see something suspicious on the wall, you will not _touch_ it!"

"How was I supposed to know this would happen? And if I hadn't touched it, you would have."

"J'Zargo will not listen to you lay blame for what he did not do. If not for you and the stupid Nord, we would not be stuck here!" The accusation was thrown without a whit of his usual condescension. In fact, he sounded quite distressed. His robes whispered as he fidgeted. And Deanne wasn't the only one who noticed.

"J'Zargo? Are you claustrophobic?" Brelyna asked cautiously.

"Claustro-what?" Onmund questioned.

The womer rephrased, still to the Khajiit, "Does being in enclosed spaces make you uncomfortable?"

J'Zargo hissed, "It is not enclosed spaces." The anger bled out of him as he began rocking in place against the wall. "_Cages_," he finally admitted, the word laced with deep-rooted fear they'd never heard from him before. "J'Zargo_…_does not like_…cages_."

There was so much written in the color of that word that Deanne didn't even consider asking why. J'Zargo made himself out to be so indestructible all the time it was almost unbelievable that anything could bring him to such a state. But there he was, fraying at the edges. By the sound of it, if they didn't do something, he might lose it any moment.

Deanne thought furiously and offered up a distraction. "We found some enchanted rings while we were mapping. Why don't we all look them over? So we have something to show Arniel when he comes back."

"Great idea," Brelyna jumped aboard, digging out the jewelry and the map she'd marked up.

The other three gathered around their friend, seating themselves down in a circle and began to pass the rings among them. They talked deliberately, making largely superficial observations and baseless hypotheses, mostly to fill the space. The enchantments weren't particularly special or strong, and there wasn't anything in the area to indicate why they'd been made there. After apprentices had exhausted conversation on the rings, the necklace made a round. Hypotheses about the wall and its significance, why the necklace had been hanging on. Apparently it had unique carvings they hadn't seen in the ruin yet. Gradually J'Zargo stopped rocking and began speaking up. Not quite with his usual egotism, but Deanne listened to him stabilize.

J'Zargo and Brelyna began to sketch the wall in question when the necklace made it to Deanne's hand and she opened her 'Eye' to give it a closer look. It was an interesting enchantment. More of an overarching effect on one's casting ability than the simple magicka increase like the rings. She'd never seen anything quite like it. Magister Tolfdir might lay an egg if Deanne asked about disenchanting an artifact, though.

And there was something else…

Deanne stood up and stepped closer to the wall, keeping her Eye open wide.

"Deanne? Can you see something?" Onmund asked.

"I'm…not sure." Her outstretched hand flattened against the wall, smoothing over the unusual carvings. She held up the amulet and used her magicka to wake the enchantment further. "There's a connection here."

The others stood up and clustered around. "What kind?"

"I couldn't feel anything."

"Well you do not have a super inner magic eye, do you?"

"Do you think it would raise the gate?"

Deanne tried to hold steady against the shouldering. "Just a minute. Give me a minute." That earned her a few inches of space, she exhaled and focused back on faint connection between the amulet and the wall. "It doesn't make sense. I can feel a connection. But...I can't tell where the other side is."

"What do you mean?" Brelyna asked, inching closer.

Deanne stared ahead, trying her best to follow the connecting magic… "There's a conduit here. I feel the side in the amulet. It goes through the wall…but then it just ends. That doesn't make any sense. This kind of conduit needs at least two points. But I can't sense anything beyond the wall. How can that be?" She could always sense magic. Always see it. But this just cut off in front of her without _ending_. "I just don't understand it."

J'Zargo reached around her for the amulet. "Let J'Zargo try."

His hands were batted away by another. "Don't. You might make it worse," Onmund warned.

"Worse than being trapped in a cage? Not possible."

Deanne stepped up quickly to avoid an argument. "I'll try something. Just hold on."

She channeled her magic along the conduit from the amulet into the wall. Strangely, it disappeared without reaching anything or altering the magical stream. Same with a stronger surge. "Maybe, an inverse wavelength?" She repeated the surge, opposing the energy coming off the amulet—and received immediate feedback from nowhere. It came up the connection, struck the amulet and the energy between the two reverberated, compounded—and something popped! It was so strange a sensation that Deanne only noticed the wall had crumbled until several pieces landed on her feet, making her hiss in pain.

Meanwhile, J'Zargo cried out with glee. "Deanne is a genius! A way out!" He shouldered past, scrambling over the rubble into the revealed opening.

"Hey, wait!" Onmund yelled after. "You can't just go down there. We have no idea why it was hidden."

"Who cares," J'Zargo demanded from just inside. "This crypt has been nothing but dust. At this point, J'Zargo would welcome something new."

"Even if it's dangerous?" Onmund retorted.

Brelyna linked arms with Deanne and stayed put. "I think we should wait here until someone comes. Find a way to lift the gate, then talk to Tolfdir about exploring down there."

There was no swaying the Khajiit. "J'Zargo is not waiting around in a cage for the fuddy-duddy magisters to come back. He would rather go down the strange passage and look for a way out than stay trapped in here, even to find danger."

Deanne didn't listen much to the arguing. She was feeling something. A source of magic. She could feel it far within. Now that whatever barrier had been hiding this place had been broken, she could _feel _it. "…There's something down there."

Her friends paused in their argument. "What do you mean 'something'? Like a 'magic' something?"

"What else could she sense?"

"Yes," Deanne gave in answer. It was so strange. Saarthal had been completely dead to her since arriving. Devoid of magic in all facets. Now? Now there were pulses of magicka echoing outward to reach them. Faint, yes, but steady. A heartbeat, drumming in the deep. Something big. And old. And powerful. She could _feel_ it. "There's something down there."

That decided J'Zargo. "J'Zargo is going down to see. Stay if you want." He turned and headed down the passage without another word.

"J'Zargo!" Their friend ignored Onmund completely. "Well now what? Do we wait? Let him go off on his own?"

Brelyna cinched closer to Deanne. "I…I don't know."

Deanne stared down passage, feeling the ripples of magic wash over her. This wasn't like the College: a strong, constant flow of a system long developed. Or even like what she'd felt from the Augur: a deliberate summons and call to action. This was…something else. "I think we should go."

"What?" was the unified cry of disbelief.

Deanne shook away the heartbeat's hypnosis. "I think…we should go down there with him. See what this is." She could barely believe she'd said it. But this strange source was magnetic and—no offence to Magister Tolfdir's studies here—the first intriguing thing they'd found in Saarthal.

Brelyna leaned close and whispered, "Didn't we just talk about how we're not so good at fighting? What if we find something down there that doesn't want us there?"

That…was a good point. They might well find something that wanted to fight. Maybe. But it wouldn't be a bandit. Maybe it was just people the mages weren't so good at fighting. Maybe if it was something else, like the ice wraiths in the Midden, they'd be alright. Maybe.

That pulsing continued…

The Ward's attention flicked briefly to the rest of the wing, listening for some sign of company. Vilkas would be back soon. He…he probably wouldn't want her going down there. Nor would Anriel Gane. Or Magister Tolfdir. No one of any authority would want the apprentices and Ward going off on their own. But…it was just a little exploration. They'd found nothing dangerous in the ruin yet. What were the chances that would change? And so long as they prepared ahead of time…

Deanne thought hard, dredging up all those regrets from before; things she _could_ have done in the heat of the fight but hadn't been able to think of. She drew magicka to her hand and Fang burst into Mundus, coming eagerly to her side. Another spell and Deanne's skin turned hard, encasing her in a protective layer of flesh made Stone. Then, to her friend, "…Maybe we can get better."

None of them could believe what they were hearing, Deanne least of all. Here she was advocating an adventure into unexplored Nordic ruins? What had gotten into her?

Well…that pulsing to start. Gods, what was causing that?

Onmund sighed. "He is probably gonna get himself killed without us." Properly resigned to the direction this had taken, he yelled down the passage, "Hold up, J'Zargo! We're coming!" Back toward the women—or more specifically, Brelyna—he asked, "We are, aren't we?"

The Dunmer was stock still, barely breathed, clinging to Deanne as much as Deanne had previously clung to her. She wasn't ready for this. Deanne deflated, and attempted to slip free. "It's alright. You can stay here. Tell the magisters where we went—"

Brelyna seized on Deanne's arm even tighter than before. "No, don't you dare leave me here." She needed a minute—a long minute of intense internal deliberation to marshal her courage. "Okay. _Okay_." The last one sounded more definitive. Then she laughed. "You realize this is the second time you've taken us down into the bowls of some place that's off limits and probably going to get us killed?"

Deanne shifted her grip and squeezed the womer's arm. "Not if we stay together."

"In all fairness, J'Zargo's the one dragging us down this time," Onmund pointed out. "And we'd better get moving if we want to catch him."

"Right." Deanne took a fresh hold on both Brelyna and Fang, and followed Onmund over the pile of rubble, into the deep of Saarthal, that pulse of power ever surging from within.

XXX

Vilkas didn't even look over as Aela came to stand next to him. At this point she was putzing around, her latest perimeter survey probably as rewarding as her first. What did she expect? Just because they'd been ambushed on the way up here didn't mean Winterhold was teeming with bandits. More likely, someone had seen the first bunch of mages on their way and staked out the pass hoping for some easy valuables. She didn't need to be here. Didn't need to wait around for him. He'd said he'd go back to Whiterun, hadn't he? So there was no point to her standing there, glaring at him like it was going to make him leave sooner. Or be intimidated into talking to her. Or irritated into asking what her problem was. If his shield-sister had something to say, she could say it. He wasn't going to go out of his way to ferret out whatever she had on her mind.

Aela glared at him. He glared straight ahead at the mages packing up their precious artifacts—which he was not going to take back to the College for them, thank you. The wind through the glaciers surrounding them filled the silence.

And his thoughts went to how Deanne was doing inside.

"That female," Aela finally started. "What is she to you?"

There it was. That same damned question from the Altmer. Kind of surprising it had taken Aela days to ask it. And, wouldn't you know it, Vilkas gave the same answer as before: "None of your damned business."

Aela glared harder in the corner of his eye. Funny enough, Aela didn't have nearly the fear-inducing look the Altmer had, in spite of her Beast Blood. Vilkas almost thought that would be the end of it. Right up until Aela planted herself in front of him, assaulting his sight-line and aiming that amber-eyed glare right into his eyes. "Tell me you haven't bonded with her."

Vilkas hardened his stare, meeting her eyes straight on. Aela's eyes never changed color when she got emotional. He could see her beast right there with her, any time. His weakness, she took as a strength. Something they would never agree on. Which made it harder at times like this, when the same beast whose rousing distracted him left Aela that much more focused.

She leaned in, those amber eyes flashing. "Tell me you haven't _bonded with her_," the Companion repeated.

His teeth ached from clenching, aggression rising and Vilkas leaned right in with her. "None. Of your damned. Business." No one's damned business. Not the Altmer's. Not the Nord mage's. Not Aela's. No one's. This wasn't anyone's business but Deanne's and Vilkas's. And anyone who thought otherwise could go shove it. Shield sisters included.

The punch came out of nowhere. Vilkas was completely unprepared and went reeling back into the nearby table—hard—, the artifacts atop rattling precariously. He ignored the frantic mages shouting about their precious artifacts and righted himself. He whipped the back of his hand across his lip and found blood on it. His beast surged up, ready for a fight, but he shoved it down.

Aela was at the edge as well. He could see it. She was close to changing and coming at him, body taut, hands fisted, eyes blazing with fury. "You ice-brain. You fucking ice-brain! I warned you! I _warned_ you!"

"Here now!" one of the mages declared, approaching what was obviously a 'get the Void away' situation. He recoiled only a bit when both fighters snapped their raging eyes at him, only to insist, "Whatever is happening here, would you kindly take it away from the artifacts. Many are quite fragile."

The Companions stared each other down, but finally stepped away from the tables. The one Beast Blood thing they could agree on: there was no benefit to the public knowing. Vilkas and Aela put distance between them and the mages, each keeping the other in their vision until they passed behind a high glacial wall and out of sight of the encampment—Vilkas ducked, just avoiding another strike from Aela, and leapt back out of her range.

"You fucking ice-brain. Don't you remember anything I told you? Anything?! You can't take this back!"

Vilkas checked his stance and growled back, "This isn't your—"

"The fuck it isn't!" This channel through the ice was one cut by wind, the frigid air ripping past them, carrying their words to sea. They didn't need to worry about one of the mages overhearing. They circled, Aela stalking like a wild thing. "I saw you in that fight. You would have let all the rest of them die just to keep by that female. And now you follow her around like a trained hound. What am I supposed to think?!" She halted and so did he, but not in confrontation. Aela paced on the spot, a hand fisted in her hair, struggling with her own demons. When she halted, she had his full attention. "Tell me you haven't bonded with her." The plea was spoken so softly; he almost didn't hear it over the wind around them. "Tell me you haven't gone that far. Tell me you haven't bound yourself to a mage."

There was ache in her words. Fear. Longing. Pain. Yeah, he remembered what she'd said. What she'd warned. A bond wasn't something you could take back. "This isn't the same. I'm not you. And she's not Skjor," he murmured.

Aela flinched, her head jerked and those amber eyes flashed at him over her shoulder. "You sure about that?" she spat, venomously.

Shor…after all this time, she was still hurting. Yeah, a bond wasn't something you could take back. He didn't know the details; this was before he'd been old enough to join the Circle, and Aela hadn't shared. But he had some pieces. Skjor had been her forebear. She spoke wistfully of that first night as a beast, each recollection ending with a tight expression and often a glance to the old warrior if he was nearby. Vilkas wasn't exactly sure when she realized the truth, but Aela had changed some time after joining the Circle. One day she'd withdrawn into herself and stayed there. Stopped taking jobs with whelps, started hunting alone.

Except when Skjor asked. She never denied him, no matter the time of day or what she had doing, Aela would always accompany him when he asked. But Skjor never quite had the gleam in his eye she did when they were together, nor the hard fractured pain when they parted ways.

Yeah. A bond wasn't something you could take back. Even when you realized you were alone with it.

Vilkas took a breath and eased out of his fighting stance. They weren't going to brawl over this anymore. It wouldn't change anything. "It's not a bond. I don't think. At least not yet."

Now that they were off her issues, Aela's ferocity returned. "'Not yet'? Do you mean to, then? And to a mage?"

"Not up to you," Vilkas snapped, giving no ground. Aela took a breath and he cut her off, "And before you say anything, know that whatever you're going to argue, I've already thought of. So don't bother."

Aela closed her mouth and glared. A new angle came to her soon enough. "And what about when she learns what you are?"

"She already knows."

"What?!" Aela exclaimed.

Vilkas glared right back, stating, "It was before, when I brought her to Winterhold. I changed in front of her. Silver Hand. Couldn't be helped. But she didn't run. She stayed with me. She…comforted me. Still wanted me."

Aela scoffed harshly. "You sure she doesn't just want some powerful protector with the loyalty of a hound?"

Vilkas drew himself up. "If it is, that's what I'll give her."

The Companion snorted, eyes still flashing angrily. "And you say you're not fucking bonded."

He might have retorted, but a scent slipped into his nose and Vilkas jerked his head around toward the ruin. Again? He strode up, back around the glacial blockage until the Saarthal excavation came into in view. The Companion half expected to find someone waiting, but the space between here and the ruin was empty. Vilkas froze in place, senses open, waiting for another. There it was! Deanne. The scent of her ghosted across his mind, mingled with tones of excitement…and fear.

Not registering Aela's voice, Vilkas took off running, aiming straight for Saarthal's entrance.

**Finally we're going in for a quest. Almost jarring after so much off-script stuff, isn't it? "Oh my gosh! Familiar material!" And poor Aela. There are hints in game that Skjor and Aela have a thing going on. But...you know...it can't be a happy thing. Gotta have a counter point for our happy couple. Get a move on, Vilkas! Deanne's headed for trouble!**

**Thank you for reading, and I'll see you all next update. Hopefully _within_ the next month, eh?**


	36. Under Saarthal

**Thank you, everyone, so much for all your comments. I left that last chapter on a bit of a hype, didn't I? Well, time to see our young folks do something stupid in the pursuit of adventure. **

The passage was roughly cut and wound around a bit, but was clear of debris, which was strange given the dilapidated state of the rest of the ruin. Deanne worried she might be hurting Fang, given how tightly she was gripping him. Maybe even pulling out some of his fur. What happened to spectral fur if it was pulled out? Did it return to Aetherius when it was separated from the familiar? She wasn't precisely sure of the rules. And thinking about it was better than considering all manner of dangers they might encounter down here.

She really should be paying attention to her surroundings. Yes, that would be a good idea. Much more important than the physiological qualities of Fang's fur. Or how her arm was going numb in Brelyna's grip. Or how they kept stepping on Onmund's heels as they all clustered so close.

They caught up to J'Zargo in the chamber at the passage end. By how he was scratching at the stone, Deanne suspected it was a dead end. She wasn't willing to let go of her escorts to confirm for herself, though.

"Thanks for waiting, J'Zargo," Onmund stated pointedly.

The scratching paused as the Khajiit shot back, "J'Zargo was not going to wait for you to make up your minds. Help J'Zargo to open this."

Onmund hurried forward, but to stop him. "No. These must have been very important people for their tombs to be sealed off. Leave them be."

"No. No!" J'Zargo yowled, scratching more furiously. "There is a way out here. There must be!"

Deanne didn't want to listen to them fighting and turned her mind instead to the pulsing. It was still there, deeper within the earth. If this room was a dead end, was there another in Saarthal that might lead down to the source? Probably in the collapsed sections.

Even as she trained her senses on the distant magic, Deanne felt the air around them grow heavy with power. Could this room be drawing it for some reason? Had something been activated? As she tried to pinpoint the source of the change, her friends' arguing drew further off, growing distant to her ear. Deanne fidgeted under the ethereal pressure only to find Brelyna's arm stiff and resistant to her squirming. She tugged—no, not stiff. Fixed. Brelyna was frozen in place. And Onmund and J'Zargo had gone silent. Even Fang was affected. What was going on? What had happened to them all!? Just as Deanne was beginning to panic, there was a warping in the air like a summoning. The heavy air puckered and something coalesced in the middle of the chamber. And spoke.

"Hold, mage." Any hope she had of staying still and going unnoticed was scattered when the entity addressed her.

What was this? The voice was lofty and austere. He sounded mortal enough; not a daedra speaking inside her head, but as though he stood right in front of her. Except his presence seemed nothing more than a projection.

He continued gravely, "Listen well. Know that you have set in motion a chain of events that cannot be stopped. Judgment has not been passed, as you had no way of knowing. Judgment will be passed on your actions to come and how you deal with the dangers ahead of you." Dangers? What dangers? "This warning is passed to you because the Psijic Order believes in you. You, mage, and you alone have the potential to prevent disaster. Take great care, and know that the Order is watching."

Every other sentence reassured and frightened. 'Order'? 'Danger'? 'Disaster'? This was the Augur all over again. Except the Augur had actually been helpful. This entity, without waiting for either recognition or response, vanished! Deanne flailed internally as the heavy magic in the air dissipated and her friends' arguing returned as though uninterrupted. Thank the Gods, even Brelyna returned to normal. Though she, at least, seemed to notice something and asked quizzically, "Did you feel that?"

Feel? "Did you _see_ that?" Deanne demanded.

"See what? What happened?"

Deanne gestured forward at where the apparition had been. "There! The man! You didn't see him?!" Fang shook himself, grumbling as he cast off the spell, and lifted his nose to scent the area, looking for the source of what had just happened. Through their link, Deanne knew he found nothing. What had just happened?!

"Boys! Shut up! Deanne saw something." Brelyna yelled, cutting the argument off at the knees.

"Saw what?" Onmund asked.

Deanne pointed, frustrated, "There! A man appeared right there. He was talking about a disaster and judgement. That we'd started a chain of events and…a Psijic Order was going to be watching!" The response was decidedly blank. "None of you saw him?"

"No," Onmund replied while J'Zargo grumbled, "Why does the blind mage get all the visions?"

Beside her, Brelyna asked, "Wait, did you say 'Psijic Order'?"

"Yes. Do you know them?"

"I've heard of them. They're an ancient order of mages founded back in the First Era. But no one's seen any of them in a long time. Not since their island disappeared. There was one here?"

"I don't know. Maybe. He didn't say he was one of them, just that they would be watching."

J'Zargo hissed furiously, "Unless this one spoke of a way out of this room, J'Zargo does not care!" He turned back to the stone.

Deanne shifted closer to Brelyna, needing the support. J'Zargo had the right of it, she thought. Why _did_ she always get the visions? First the Augur and now this strange man. In fact…might this be connected? The Augur of Dunlain had said that a 'path' would find her. Was this it? Or the beginning of it? Maybe it was just coincidence. Maybe she saw the vision because she'd happened to be the one who'd broken the wall and its enchantment to get in here. But they hadn't done anything. All they'd done was walk down to this dead end of a chamber. Surely this place didn't constitute a disaster in the making. As long as they didn't do anything—

J'Zargo strained, stone shifting. Deanne's heart seized and she lurched toward him. "J'Zargo, wait! Don't touch that!"

Too late!

The slab he'd been pulling on came loose and the Khajiit leapt back as it fell hard to the floor—then squawked as the occupant stepped free, aware and mobile, barking angrily at the chamber's living denizens.

Things happened fast. The draugr's awakening triggered another tomb to fall open and a second draugr to answer the intrusion. Brelyna dragged Deanne backwards into the passage as a fireball exploded in the chamber. Deanne had felt the spell being drawn up before its cast and threw up a Ward, protecting both herself and Brelyna from the explosion. Fang roared and leapt into the fray. There was such a clamor of spells and struggle that Deanne couldn't track any of it. The fracas lasted scarcely more than a minute, and when all finally settled, the draugr were silent, J'Zargo was breathing heavily and Onmund was slumped against a wall groaning.

"Onmund!" Both women hurried in and to his side. Deanne cast Restoration and found his arm badly burned.

Brelyna was on her feet, rounding on J'Zargo in a fury. "Look what you've done!"

He became defensive immediately, "If he'd been quicker to—"

"No! You should have thought before blowing the whole room apart! You could have killed him!"

"Well, J'Zargo could hardly wait for the Dunmer to act. Where were you, he wonders? Hiding away from the fight, that is where. J'Zargo needed to act and he did—"

Deanne healed Onmund's arm while the two argued. The entire experience had distressed her.

"The Dunmer is overreacting—"

"No, she's not," Deanne interrupted. The two went silent at her outburst and Deanne clapped her mouth shut, embarrassed, stressed and worried what she might say in anger. Especially here when they needed each other.

Onmund took the opening. "She's really not. Fireballs? You cast spells like you were only one here. Well, you're not. You want to blow everything around you to pieces, do it on your own. But when we're together like this, you have to think about the rest of us."

J'Zargo sputtered in shock. "You cannot be serious. There were draugr! What was J'Zargo supposed to do? Let them cut him apart while he went through his arsenal to choose a spell that would not hurt so much?"

Onmund jerked his arm forward, the burnt edges of his sleeve fluttering over Deanne's hand. "And that excuses hurting your allies? Your friends? Either we're in this together or we're not. So which is it?"

J'Zargo didn't answer, mumbling somewhere in his throat, sufficiently chastised—Deanne hoped. Onmund stood and helped Deanne up behind him. By then the Khajiit had mustered himself enough to say, "J'Zargo is…sorry. He is not used to—"

"Well get used to it! We're not going a step further if we have to defend ourselves against the tomb _and_ you." Deanne felt Onmund's hand wrapped tight around her own, shaking slightly although his voice was steady. She squeezed back to reassure him and that shaking eased.

J'Zargo's retort was to state, "It's not like that threat means much. There is no 'further' for any of us to go!"

"How about the one coffin that didn't pop open with the others?" Brelyna offered, bluntly.

Deanne considered. That did seem odd, considering how quickly the second had responded to the first's opening.

Onmund sighed and whispered, "Ancestors, forgive me." Then released Deanne's hand and pushed up his sleeves. "Alright, someone give me a hand with it."

The women stood aside while the men-folk hefted the coffin's lid. Another scraping and heavy fall of stone and—"Well what do you know. I was right."

After another general consensus that they continue forward, the women passed through first, entering another long forgotten, sealed up section of Saarthal. Behind them, Deanne heard Onmund grab J'Zargo and hold him back. "I mean it, J'Zargo. You start throwing off spells without looking, I'll take the others back to the gate and leave you to deal with whatever you wake up down there."

J'Zargo replied snarkily, "If the Nord wanted to become the blind one's hero, perhaps he should have done so before the Companion showed up. J'Zargo might even have helped if asked nicely."

Onmund pushed him away. "I just want to get us all out of here alive. See if you can't get on board with that." They came through and Deanne pretended not to have heard what had not been meant for her ears.

With a magicka burst, Deanne discovered the immediate hallway was honeycombed with no clear path ahead. The pulsing came from all directions, the source somewhere down and to their right, helping not at all with the immediate decision. "So…do we just pick one?"

There seemed no better option, so they started with the first right. As it turned out, the passages were a crisscross pattern, interconnected and therefore easy to traverse in the direction they needed. Unfortunately, it kept everyone on their toes. Especially when they came around a corner and all three of her friends froze, two letting out startled cries.

Deanne latching onto Brelyna as the Dunmer did onto her. "What? What?!" Deanne peeped.

Brelyna hissed fearfully, "Draugr. Right here." A draugr? But…she heard no movement, no rasping breaths. "Is it…dead? Dead-dead?"

Three of them yelped in surprise as J'Zargo hurled an ice spell at the corpse, which promptly crumpled to the floor. "What?" he demanded when their friends exhaled with hostility. "It did not explode, did it?"

Onmund groaned in agony and exasperation. "I don't think that one was going to move."

"Well, tell J'Zargo which ones will not attack and he will not either."

The group continued on. There were no more draugr in the hallways, but the reprieve didn't last. They passed into another more open section and down a flight of broad stairs. The tombs were no longer alcoves, but stone beds set into the walls. The smell of old dead was distracting, but Deanne kept her ears peeled to her surroundings. About halfway across a chamber there were sounds of shifting on stone and croaks from dried throats as disturbed draugr rose from their beds all around.

Without so much as a warning, J'Zargo let a caterwaul and took off running straight ahead, hurling exploding fireballs across the room, which were answered by shrieking corpses. "J'Zargo!" Onmund hollered, but it went unheard, the whole space echoing with J'Zargo's personal mottos of power and grandeur. "Dammit! Stay here," Onmund insisted, pushing Deanne and Brelyna back toward the entrance to the section.

Brelyna didn't need to be asked twice, pulling the two back toward the doorway as Onmund went running after their insane cohort. A second set of casting joined J'Zargo's and battle sounds reverberated everywhere. Fang stayed with the women, keeping between them and chamber, snarling at the nearest threats.

Deanne clung to Brelyna's arm, listening fiercely. "Are they okay? What's happening? Do they need us?"

"I don't—There are more on the walls. I think I can hit them from here…"

"Then do it!" Deanne insisted, shifting her hold to Brelyna's robes, to give her both hands free. Divines, Deanne wished she could see! The sounds and magic left the room in utter chaos to her senses.

Brelyna drew up a spell—and held it. Deanne's heart clenched. Twisted. Pulled. What was she waiting for?! Their friends were in the middle of everything! After several agonizing seconds, the spell was loosed, followed by an angry squawk. "…Wow. It's easier from a distance."

"Then do it again!" Deanne insisted. If she couldn't do anything, Brelyna had to!

And the Dunmer did so, the spells drawn up, aimed, and fired deliberately, finding their targets more often than not. Even so, Deanne feared their progress was too slow. Fang growled ferociously before them and launched at an enemy, dragging the corpse to the ground two dozen feet away. Deanne threw open her Eye, tracking all of them by spell and sound around the chamber. She could make out the magic of her friends and their spells, but there was another magical signature in the room. Suddenly, a spell blossomed out of nowhere, with neither Onmund nor J'Zargo as the source. Deanne threw up a ward just in time to keep a frigid ice spike from impaling either Brelyna or herself, the Dunmer shrieking as the spell shattered hardly a foot in front of them.

"Where—?"

"There!" Deanne pointed at where she 'saw' more hostile magicka being summoned.

"I see him."

"I'll hold it."

What followed was a clumsy exchange of magical projectiles, Deanne staggering behind Brelyna as the women avoided the incoming spells while Deanne defended and Brelyna tried to hit the offender. Their persistence paid off, the draugr spell-caster finally going down in a blast of electricity. Seconds later the chamber fell into eerie quiet as the men-folk felled their last attacker and Fang came trotting back to Deanne's side.

With a moment to catch their breath, Onmund rounded on his companion. "What in the Void was that about?!"

"What?" J'Zargo demanded, the ladies and Fang crossing to join them.

Onmund fumed. "That! You didn't even wait a second to check. Just raced straight ahead! What were you thinking?!"

J'Zargo addressed him like a simpleton. "J'Zargo was _thinking _about the rest of you. Like he was told to, yes? His friends were _here_. Therefore he should be exploding things over _there_. What? What?! What has J'Zargo done now?!" Onmund and Brelyna both expressed their exasperation: Onmund muttering, Brelyna groaning. Deanne was just happy everyone was still alive and she rubbed Fang behind the ears with relief.

"Does anyone need healing?" she asked.

There were a few cuts and bruises on the men-folk that Deanne still had the magicka to heal. The other three needed several minutes to rest and recuperate their magicka. Deanne made a mental note to thank Archmage Aren for encouraging her to expand her magicka pool, and to teach her friends the lesson later. It would undoubtedly be useful to them in the future, as Deanne was beginning to think that she and her friends were prone to landing themselves in the middle of dangerous situations.

Just as they prepared to get going, from Deanne's arm, Brelyna asked, "What's with the axe?"

Axe?

Onmund answered self-consciously, "Oh, well…See I was—"

J'Zargo scoffed. "The Nord has been whining of disturbing the dead this whole time, and _he_ is the first to scavenge. Even J'Zargo has not stooped to grave-robbing." Deanne heard the '_yet'_, unspoken.

"It's not grave-robbing!" Onmund yelled, swiftly lowering his voice when it echoed. "I'm just borrowing," he insisted. "I was raised the proper Nord way, so I know how to use a weapon. Father insisted. And if we're going to be down here, antagonizing the dead—and _you're_ going to be racing ahead all the time—I'm going to need more than half-mastered spells. I'll find somewhere for it to rest before we leave."

It was explanation enough for the rest of them, though J'Zargo insisted on a few more jabs just to get under Onmund's skin. As they started off, Deanne heard Onmund mutter, "If I ever get to Sovngard, my grandfather is going to have my head for this."

They continued into the ruin, the surges of magicka from the mysterious source growing stronger. There were a few more draugr encounters, though not in the concentration as in that large chamber. They stopped being surprised when J'Zargo continued to barrel forward, hurling spells madly. Onmund just grunted and charged after him, while Brelyna pulled Deanne into a good position from which they could lend support to their friends in melee, Fang taking up guard between the women and the action. There were no more draugr mages, so Deanne's brief turn of combat usefulness was the one and only. She spent the time anxiously tracking her friends in battle and healing their wounds after the fact.

The four—and familiar—came across several safeguards and puzzle doors along the way which they were able to open by Deanne's magical sight and their own cleverness.

"Did the ancient Nords truly think these would suffice?"

"I'm sure they just didn't foresee the gargantuan brain that is J'Zargo," Brelyna quipped back.

Soon the surges of magicka were so strong that even her friends felt it and they all picked up their pace, eager to find this thing that was hidden so deep within a so long forgotten ruin. It was not, however, what stopped them up in a particularly expansive chamber.

"Sweet Azura, _look_ at them all!"

"I'd say we've found the tomb," Onmund remarked, edging close to a great void at the room's center. "They go all the way down. I can't even see the bottom."

"Think Tolfdir will forgive us going off when he sees this?" J'zargo asked as he moved forward.

Onmund replied, "If they don't all wake up and tear us apart, I'm sure we'll have the chance to ask.—J'Zargo, slow down. Quiet, _please_. Let's try to avoid a fight this time."

The group made its way around the burial pit to the gate on the other side. Onmund pulled on a chain mechanism—and tombs all around the room fell open.

"The Nord was _saying_!"

"I know! Shut up! Back up, to the right—Shit!" A coffin fell open immediately behind Deanne and Brelyna.

Brelyna shrieked and an electrical shot went off, the awakened draugr barking at the strike. Deanne forced herself to act, drawing ice into her palms and throwing it right where her friend's spell had struck. The draugr gave another cry and collapsed.

Before she could think to celebrate her competence, Onmund spoke. "Good. As long as we—J'Zargo!"

"Ah-hahaha!" The Khajiit had taken off in the opposite direction as they were edging, fireballs exploding all around the room as he demanded the attention of every enemy in shouting distance.

Onmund groaned as Brelyna told him, "Go. We'll cover you both." So Onmund followed their mad Khajiit.

Once again, Deanne was left following the sounds of fighting until—"Mage!" she warned, pointing hurriedly.

"—I see him," Brelyna confirmed, still throwing electrical bolts in the area of J'Zargo's hollering, her spells growing weaker by the cast. "The draugr are all swarming Onmund and that damn cat. If I stop, they might be overwhelmed!"

Deanne reached out to Fang and issued a command. The familiar streaked off to a separate side of the room, snarling until there was an impact and guttural yell. She didn't have time to be proud, as Brelyna's cover fire had been noticed and several draugr came lumbering toward them. "Archer!" Brelyna shrieked, dragging Deanne down just in time for an arrow to strike the stone above them, clattering across Deanne's shoulder as it ricocheted.

They rose to their knees, the draugr closing in. Deanne's heart raced, hearing the scuff of numerous ancient boots advancing and the hoarse exhalations as heavy weapons were hefted, and Brelyna's voice rose hysterically high. "There are too many! Too many!"

Deanne felt Brelyna's control come apart. The gossamer waves of purple became a tumult, swells thrashing outward, drawing from an unseen place and turning hot. Deanne barely had thought enough to throw up a ward before Brelyna erupted! The womer caught fire, draugr all around them shrieking as the flames struck them. Deanne curled low, holding her ward close as the heat washed over her. She had no idea what was going on, except that Brelyna didn't seem to be in control of it. It was like a flame cloak, but not a flame cloak. It was so much more powerful and widespread than that, actively seeking the enemies within its reach and burning them to a crisp.

The storm didn't last long. As quickly as the surge had overtaken her, Brelyna's spell sputtered out and she dropped. Deanne rushed to catch her friend, just keeping Brelyna's head from striking the ground as she collapsed. The nearest of the draugr still burned, their ancient flesh leaving a putrid, meaty smell all around. But there were those beyond the blast. Deanne heard them moving, yet deciding if they dared to repeat their fellows' advance.

Deanne huddled low, shaking Brelyna's shoulder. "Brelyna! Brelyna!" The womer's head lolled, but she gave no sound. Deanne's Eye still saw her magic; she was alive, but unconscious. If the draugr attacked now, there would be nothing to stop them. Deanne didn't know how she was to fight them off.

She flinched as another arrow pinged right beside her head and Deanne threw up a Barrier around the two of them, wondering how many blows it would hold against. Fang was still engaged with the draugr mage, Onmund and J'Zargo were still fighting. Onmund no longer cast spells, relying on his weapon. J'Zargo was still yelling, but with less gusto. They were getting tired. And the draugr still swarmed.

How much longer could her friends hold out? How many more draugr were there to contend with? What did they do? What _could_ they do?!

New footsteps rose amidst the fighting. Deanne's heart seized—More?—until they broke out into the chamber with a battle cry that drowned out the draugr. Then Deanne's spirit soared! Vilkas!

The draugr fell before him, taken off guard, the warrior bellowing as he struck again and again, ancient bodies falling as he cleaved his way across the room. Nearest Deanne, draugr yelped and collapsed, one by one, accompanied by dull thunks in dry flesh. Arrows? Vilkas's companion? It seemed to be, but she didn't shout like Vilkas did.

The two warriors turned the tide. The draugr hadn't expected a second wave of assailants and weren't prepared. Vilkas took advantage, felling most before they could adjust their attack, and by then the dead were outnumbered by the living. Deanne cradled her friend in her lap, holding up her Barrier until the only sounds were gasps by those familiar to her, J'Zargo and Onmund among them.

As if on cue, Brelyna stirred. Deanne half-laughed, half-sobbed with relief, "Thank the Eight!" She hugged Brelyna close as the womer tried unsuccessfully to sit up. "You scared me. Are you alright?"

Brelyna groaned, dropping back into Deanne's lap. She wouldn't be getting upright just yet. "Y-yes. I…I've never done that…before…"

"What was that? You…" What did she even call what had happened? "…_exploded_!"

"Ancestor's Wrath," Brelyna answered wearily. "Heard stories about it. Didn't think…it felt like _that_, though."

"Are you going to be okay?" Deanne sniffed.

"Yes. Just weak. Need to lie here. For a bit." She sounded so tired. Deanne nodded shakily, "The others?"

"Alive," Deanne replied, swiping the tears away from her eyes before they embarrassed her friend.

Vilkas's footsteps came out of the quiet, rushing to her and going to his knees at her side. "_Deanne_," he gasped, the relief clear as he reached for her.

Careful of Brelyna, Deanne curled into his touch, new tears racing for her eyes. "I'm fine. We're fine. If…if you hadn't come…_Thank you_, Vilkas."

He took her face in his hands and pressed his forehead to hers. There was a faint tremor in his palms. It seemed she wasn't the only one who'd been frightened.

Then Vilkas's bearing shifted. He went from tender and concerned to on-guard in an instant, tensing and sitting up to lean over the women, prepared to defend. Deanne opened her ears, expecting the lumbering sounds of an errant draugr yet standing. Instead, it was the padding of paws. Fang had finished thrashing the corpse of the draugr mage who'd kept him so occupied and away from his caster's side during the fight, and was trotting over.

Oh. This was the first time she'd had Fang summoned around Vilkas, wasn't it? She knew he must see wolves and monsters all the time as a Companion. But Fang was an exceptional creature and frightful to anyone who didn't understand his nature.

She reached out to touch Vilkas's arm, hoping to keep him from attacking her familiar. "It's alright. He's mine. He's not going to hurt anyone."

Fang padded over and stooped to investigate the Dunmer who was occupying what was very clearly _his _place, completely ignoring the warrior on Deanne's other side. Deanne rather expected the familiar to get territorial, but was glad he didn't. There was enough else going on right now without Fang being fussy about having a strange man nearby. Instead, Fang became fussy about Deanne's currently occupied lap.

He dropped his muzzle and dug it under the womer's shoulder, proceeding to shove Brelyna off of Deanne's legs. "Fang, no! Stop that!" Deanne admonished.

"Ack," Brelyna groaned, as she was ousted onto the floor.

"I'm sorry. He just—_Hush_!" She draped her arms over his head, trying to steer the wolf away from his goal of occupying the now vacant space.

Brelyna brushed off the apology. "Never mind. I'm alright. Can probably sit up now."

Deanne maneuvered around Fang to help her friend into a sitting position and to retrieve a water skin from her bag, which Brelyna gulped from. Through the whole of it, Vilkas didn't say a word. He held in place, his hand curled heavily over Deanne's shoulder. He was tense. That part wasn't going away, even as Fang sidled up and lay down on Deanne's other side.

It was hard to think what to say. Vilkas could have found any number of things wrong with Fang. His size, his predatory form, the fact he was summoned by Conjuration magic. Gods, this was like introducing two individual friends to one another and praying they got along.

"What in Oblivion is that?!" Deanne was startled by the voice of the other Companion. So Vilkas wasn't the only one taking an issue with Fang. The wolf's head perked up and he huffed, assessing the threat behind the tone.

Brelyna answered for the ward. "He's Deanne's familiar. Big, scary, and loyal as a puppy. Don't concern yourself about it."

"A _what_?!"

"What happened?" Onmund asked, stumbling over to join them with J'Zargo behind.

Deanne latched onto his question, hoping to avoid the other Companion's fury over her familiar. "She cast a spell and fainted."

"Just for a little while," Brelyna insisted.

Deanne's lip fought to curl up as she sidestepped another argument. "Is anyone hurt?"

Onmund had more damage than J'Zargo, but they had both taken a beating. Deanne set to healing them while Brelyna rested, at which time Vilkas had recovered enough to make his own demands. "What are you doing down here?!"

Before Deanne could even cringe away from the accusation, J'Zargo hissed, "Do not blame the blind one. This was J'Zargo's idea, first!" Was that a claim of blame or credit? It was hard to tell with him.

"We all came down here together," Onmund said pointedly. "We were all in the section when the gate came down. There wasn't anywhere else to go, and J'Zargo ran off so…we all followed."

Vilkas turned to growl low at Deanne, "You should have waited. You shouldn't have wandered off into a Nordic barrow alone."

"And what are we? Chopped liver?" J'Zargo squawked.

Vilkas ignored him. "We're taking you back." He hooked one of her arms now that she was done with her Restoration and stood her up. "We got the gate up. We're going back to the surface before anything else happens."

Deanne turned to tug on his arm fervently. "Wait, wait. Let us just go a little farther. Please."

"Why?"

Brelyna picked up on the reason; the whole origin for their excursion, at least on Deanne's part. "Is it close? Are we close?"

"Is what close?" Vilkas demanded.

"The magic…thing Deanne's been sensing," Onmund replied. "The other reason we came. There's some powerful magic down here. Deanne could sense it up above. I'm feeling it now, too. It must be close."

J'Zargo, despite the intense battle they'd all just taken part in, was on his feet and eager. "Let us go, then! J'Zargo wants to see this thing."

"Hold up," Onmund yelled, lunging after him.

"Ack! Let go! How much more danger could there be? All these draugr coming alive at once, this _must_ be the last safeguard. Let J'Zargo go!"

"Stop running ahead! Stendarr's mercy, you're impossible!"

While the two bickered, Vilkas lowered his voice and bent to Deanne's ear. "This is too—"

"Please!" she insisted. "We've come all this way. It's just ahead. Please."

"And if there's more guarding this thing? I saw the draugr you left in your wake. The doors. What if this wasn't the last defense? What if there's something worse waiting? What if the first Men hid this thing away for a reason?"

She…didn't have an answer for that. He made sense. Everything he said made sense. By all rights, she should be taking this opportunity to go back to the surface. She'd had her adventure and lived through it. The way back was open. The magisters would find their way down here before long, and likely discover this thing that Deanne was sensing. She didn't need to keep going. The discovery would doubtless end up at the College if she waited long enough. And down here, danger had only increased with exploration. So why, why, _why_ didn't she want to take this chance to leave? Why, after coming so close to being killed by draugr, did she still want to go forward?

"…Please,"—Gods, she was mad—"Just one more room."

Vilkas must have been near to denying her, because Brelyna broke in, "She had a vision. Her last one paid off. I'd bet my family name this one will, too."

That stayed him. "A vision? What vision?"

"Yes, yes, the blind mage has visions. And for her trouble, she received her magical 'Eye'. This time, _J'Zargo _is getting the prize!" He yowled and Onmund grunted, hanging onto him.

"You're not going ahead without the rest of us!"

"Nord! Stop your mother-henning. Release J'Zargo!"

While the boys scuffled lightly, Vilkas grasped Deanne's shoulders in his hands and held her before him, making his size more than apparent, even to one who couldn't see it. "What vision? What did you see?"

There was skepticism there. Deanne almost wished he were one of the religious sorts who heard the word 'vision' and associated them with the Gods and destiny and just accepted it all. But no, Vilkas was the sort to question first. "It wasn't a vision…exactly. Someone appeared and spoke to me. At the College, it was the Augur of Dunlain. When I went down into the Midden to see him—"

"Which was forbidden and dangerous," Brelyna piped up with pride.

Deanne shot a look at Brelyna that, she hoped, conveyed a demand for silence. Mentioning a previous dangerous excursion was not helpful for this argument. Not when Vilkas had every reason, capability and intention of dragging them back to the College. Or Deanne, at least.

She continued, "He gave me a way to see magic. To sense it like no one else can. This time…I don't know who it was, but he said we'd started something that couldn't be stopped. And that we could prevent a disaster."

"He talked of disaster, and you want to keep going?" he asked incredulously.

"Yes, because the Augur said a path was going to find me. What if this is it? Please, I know what I'm asking. I know I'm scared. I know it's dangerous down here and we don't know what's ahead. But I also _know_ that this is important. Please." She knew it. Every step closer, she was surer of it. But how did she convince him when she had nothing more than a feeling to argue?

Under Vilkas's intensity, the squabble of the men-folk faded into the background. So too did the attention of both Brelyna and the other Companion. It was just Deane and Vilkas, struggling to come to some understanding.

He leaned forward, his forehead coming to rest against her own. Was that…good?

"We've done this before, you know," he murmured.

She blinked quizzically. "Done…what?"

"Nightcaller Temple. You remember? You wanted so badly to help, even with the risk it posed. You were so sure it was the right thing to do. Then you looked at me with those pleading eyes, just like you're doing now, and said 'please'. Is that really all it takes?" His grip tightened a fraction, but the only new sound to Deanne's ear was Fang's tail swiffing back and forth on the floor nearby.

Vilkas sighed, his resolution draining away before her. With one hand he cupped her cheek, tilting her face up toward his. She wondered what he saw. "But this isn't the same. There isn't a town of people at risk. Best I can tell, no one's in danger from what's down here. Feels more like a treasure hunt. Are you absolutely sure this is the right thing to do?"

She considered. The answer seemed more significant now that he'd said all that. And so too was the fact that he was leaving the decision up to her. And he was. Whatever she said, he'd accept it. Stand by her in it. Just like Nightcaller Temple.

"Yes. I'm sure."

He nodded against their contact and stood tall. "I don't like you being down here. I don't like you putting yourself in danger. But…if you say it's important, then I believe you. But we do this my way."

"Alright," she readily agreed.

Vilkas turned to her friends and barked, "Hey! Cut that out!" Deanne jumped at his change of tone, but it cut the men-folk's bickering off like a switch. Just like that, he was Vilkas the Companion, a warrior and leader of warriors. And Deanne trusted herself to his direction. "Now I'm going to tell you how this is going to go."

**I loved writing J'Zargo here. He's such a Tank. The little bit of each of us that goes shrieking at the bad guys when we see them. This chapter meant a lot of research into MMO team dynamics for me, so that was fun. I got to divvy up the assignments while looking into our characters' races and classes and so forth. Sort of funny, but Brelyna just exploded on me in the middle of writing this fight. No warning - just boom! I was blinking at my monitor after she did it. And Fang and Vilkas finally meet. About freakin' time. Yay! So much happening.  
**

**Rather than stuff this chapter, Saarthal's exciting conclusion comes next update. I'll see you then!**


	37. The Heart of Saarthal

**You folks have been so very patient, here's an extra long chapter! It was a bit of struggle to start. My solution was to switch POV entirely. It really loosened up the mental flow and allowed me to address the physical aspects of our scene. As much fun as it is to wander through the world relying on everything but sight, some things are best described through that sense. I hope you enjoy it.**

He didn't like this. Not a bit. The four mages were toeing the end of their strength, no matter their blustering. He'd dealt with mages in the past—mostly as enemies—but he knew the look of a depleted mage and they had it. He couldn't very well compare the strength of their spells given when he'd gotten into the burial chamber, but that wasn't the only way to judge a mage's stamina. He saw the pallor that set on their skin, the subtle shake in their hands, the straight exhaustion in their stances. He didn't need Deanne's gratitude to know they wouldn't have lasted much longer on their own. By Vilkas's account, they would need a full day of recovery before pressing forward.

But he knew that look in their eyes and the scent of their excitement. They were the qualities of the young and stupid after they'd gotten the taste of glory or treasure or whatever it was that set their heart racing on a job. The sort of look that had them raring for the next fight, the next enemy, the next shot at what they sought. And he couldn't even blame it on the fact they were magic-users, as he could tell Aela was grousing to herself back there. No, he'd seen this look on too many young warriors not to recognize it. And too often, it was right before they got themselves killed.

There was no way this ruin would stay clear. Not if the rest of the place was any indication. It always got worse. With their luck, the next chamber would be even more heavily guarded. And here he was, about to lead a bunch of depleted magic-wielding whelps into it with no prep. Well it wouldn't be the first time he'd had to play nursemaid to a bunch of wet-behind-the-ears pups. Though he usually had a few more swords to work with.

"Alright, listen up." He needed to set precedent now while he had the chance. "I'll take the lead," Vilkas said, then motioned to the Nord and Khajiit. "You two behind me. Keep out of range of my blade. No one wants that impact. You're support. Let me take the brunt of whatever comes." He closed in on the Khajiit, glaring down at the cat. "You get in front of me, I'll lay you out myself."

Vilkas saw the arrogance bubbling up, a need to challenge regardless of the merit of the call. But the fight had taken enough out of them, so the Khajiit settled and his eyes dropped. Satisfied, Vilkas turned away. Whispered behind him, he heard, "He's better at that than you."

"J'Zargo, I swear to Shor—"

Vilkas moved on. "Brelyna, keep Deanne with you, behind them. Anything attacks, you pull back."

Brelyna looped her arm around Deanne's in a practiced motion. "Not a problem. I'm better at a distance anyway."

"Good. Keep with Aela, then. She'll take the rear, cover our flank and provide ranged support as needed." He looked to his shield-sister for confirmation only to see her glaring daggers at Deanne. He sharpened his voice. "_Aela_."

She whipped her glare around to him. "Flank and cover. I heard you."

"_Our _flank," he clarified pointedly. He didn't need her trying to skirt the enemy and leaving their rear vulnerable. Especially not with Deanne there. There was enough risk going forward with amateur fighters without chancing more. Her jaw set, but she didn't challenge. This arrangement wasn't new—Vilkas on point, Aela at the rear—but she held more against magic-users than he did.

"And Fang?" Deanne asked softly.

Aela's glare redouble. Vilkas eyed the enormous wolf familiar seated contentedly at Deanne's side. The creature had been following the conversation, but his ears regularly ticked back toward the Huntress. Vilkas couldn't fault the beast for that, given he was tracking her, too.

Vilkas shifted his gaze to Deanne. "He's guarded you well so far?"

"Very well," she replied, sinking her hand into the wolf's scruff.

Vilkas felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise. "Then keep him with you. And I mean _right_ with you."

Truth was, he wanted her back up in a secure part of the ruin before the rest of them took another step forward. But he could see that argument going nowhere. She had the same resolution as the rest of them, and he wasn't going to go back on what he'd said before. Vilkas exhaled, setting his shoulders and securing his blade in hand. "Let's get on with this then."

The next room was unimpressive: another hallway with thankfully empty burial alcoves. Vilkas cautiously extended his senses, feeling the pressure in his skull but picking up no immediate scent of decomposition. These were the worst of times for him: when the Blood in him was useful. He could feel himself and the beast set on the same goal. It was too easy to forget that he didn't want anything to do with it. Especially when it seemed to keep Deanne's scent ever in focus. It made the warrior worry that, one day, that shared purpose wouldn't end once they were out danger and he'd be right back where he started before learning what a curse this was.

Senses forward.

One more room. That was the agreement. Except…dammit, he could feel it now, too. This tingling in the air that set him on edge. Powerful magic, just ahead. Vilkas didn't even attempt to turn them back.

Vilkas held them at that last door, opening it cautiously while the mages practically clustered at his back. The next chamber was large and open, the air stale. The level they were on dropped away to a lower floor about thirty feet ahead. Vilkas could just see a table below where a helmed draugr sat, listless on its throne. And beyond that... "I'd say we've found what you were looking for," he said softly.

For starters, it was huge. A sphere at least three horse lengths in diameter, glowing with patterns and some kind of writing Vilkas couldn't make out at this distance. The surface was a jigsaw of pieces, and the glow underneath was like something itching to get out. And it was floating—hovering several feet up in the air, rotating in place and giving off this gyration of sound that twisted Vilkas's stomach twist and ground into his ears. Oh yeah. That was it. Whatever the Void 'it' was.

But the priority was the draugr, and Vilkas trained his senses on the areas he couldn't see. But even with the beast, he could barely hear over the magic orb. And the scent of the long dead was so old it was impossible to pick out individuals. But Vilkas would bet there were coffins or alcoves lining the walls, and that their inhabitants would be inclined to move once they knew the room had new arrivals.

Vilkas shut the door and turned back to the others, coming to a two-fold decision. "Alright, you all know the battle plan. Let me get down to that lower level first. Check things out. Anything attacks, try not to roast me." And the other part – "Deanne, you're staying here. Keep Fang with you. We'll come back once it's all clear."

He saw her take a breath to argue—then release with a sigh. "Alright."

Her goal, his way. Vilkas was holding to his promise, she'd hold to hers.

He watched her settle against the wall with her familiar beside her before Vilkas addressed the rest. "Everyone ready?" He would have liked a bit less enthusiasm in their answer, but fine. "Then let's go."

They crept in, trying to keep as quiet as possible, the thrum of the orb ever in their ears and its magic prickling on their skin. Vilkas led the way against the wall, hoping that if he had a hard time hearing, so did everything still in here. They just needed to go unnoticed long enough for him to get full stock of the room. Yeah, four coffins on the walls. Chances were, all occupied. Then that one at the table. Not too bad, if they were the quality they'd encountered thus far.

By hand signals, he directed Aela and Brelyna to the other side of this level, overlooking the chamber while affording another angle. Once they were in position, Vilkas beckoned to the other two and made his way down the stair.

The draugr stirred when he was about halfway down. Typical.

Vilkas didn't hesitate. He leapt the remaining distance and struck out at the corpse rising from the table. He missed, his blade ricocheting off the chair as the draugr rose and stepped away. Vilkas used the seat as a step and pursued, using the height to bring his weapon up and down in a savage strike. The draugr met the blow with a gauntlet and without staggering. Dammit, a deathlord!

There was a roar from the orb and a torrent of energy leapt up around it making Vilkas's bones vibrate. Coffin lids shifted and fell open, the draugr on the walls waking and drawing forth their weapons to attack. Behind and above him, Vilkas heard the mages start firing off spells. Shor, let the two at his back still be on the stair, because Vilkas had his hands full with this one in the helm.

The deathlord had drawn its own blade and successfully parried the Companion's strikes, although it became clear soon enough that it wasn't primarily a swordsman. Vilkas traded blows until he found an opening. He deflected a side-swipe at an angle, letting the other sword slide over his own, the metals grating each other until the draugr's slid past. The unexpected release gave Vilkas the chance to wind up and swing full tilt for the draugr's now exposed midsection. His fresh blade parted the ancient chainmail and met flesh—that held its form like ebony.

Vilkas spent an unwise instant in surprise. All the draugr needed. The next blow sent Vilkas reeling back. The Companion recovered just in time to see the corpse draw blazing fire to its hand and hurl it forward. A Ward appeared in front of him, saving Vilkas from roasting alive, the heat breaking apart and racing past him on all sides. Vilkas didn't look for who had saved his life and went on the offensive with a roar.

He kept aware of his surroundings, enemies and allies. The mages and Aela felled the other draugr while Vilkas engaged the one with the helm. He tried to keep the bastard angled so the others could strike without Vilkas in the way. And it worked. Spells and arrows rained down once the other draugr were dealt with. Vilkas got within the draugr's guard several times. But nothing fucking worked! The arrows pinged off the same as Vilkas's blows did. Fire, ice and lightening parted over its body like water over a stone. The bastard was impervious to everything.

Vilkas had encountered these spells before. Iron-skin or something. They only lasted so long and Vilkas usually depended on keeping the caster off balance until the spell wore off and he could kill them. But the draugr just kept going like it was nothing, flaunting itself rather than fighting.

At a point, the draugr stopped playing. It drove Vilkas back with a powerful lightning strike that the warrior had to lurch sideways to avoid. The next cast was for the two mages on this level. Vilkas glimpsed a Ward leap up just in time to shatter beneath the maelstrom of fire and both mages went flying. The next was aimed for the women above. An inferno engulfed the entire shelf, loud enough to drown out their screams.

He hated when he was fucking right!

Vilkas had seconds to come up with a strategy to retreat. Seconds to find a way out before they were all—

Deanne was on the stair.

Deanne was coming down the stair with her familiar! _No_!

His intent turned from retreat to distraction. The warrior threw himself at the draugr hard. Loud. _Desperate_. Anything to keep its attention away from the woman entering the fray.

Too rash, too reckless. He didn't even have a proper stance when he met the draugr's reply and Vilkas's sword went flying from his hands. _Shit_!

Next thing he knew, the draugr's hand was around his throat. Vilkas struggled, but no amount of thrashing could loose those fingers. The corpse's grotesque, grinning teeth parted, ancient decaying lungs compressing to expel this noxious air and laughter as it throttled the life out of him. In desperation, Vilkas reached for the wolf, willing to let it loose if only to buy more time against this thing that he couldn't strike.

The draugr sent a surge through Vilkas and he felt the wolf slip from his grasp. What? _How_? He didn't even think that was possible!

The world swam, but Vilkas refused to give up, scrambling for whatever he had left. He had…to give her time…_ 'Deanne. For Deanne.'_ Vilkas pawed for his belt, dragged his last weapon from its sheath and drove it up into the draugr's ribcage.

The blade sank deep.

Couldn't tell who was more surprised: Vilkas or the draugr. But it was clear enough who recovered first. Vilkas twisted his blade and yanked the bastard's abdomen open. The draugr bellowed in pain, dropping its enemy and lurched away. An act Vilkas assisted with a full-body kick to the pelvis.

The draugr went staggering back, clutching at itself in shock. A fireball went sailing in from over Vilkas's shoulder to strike the thing while it struggled. Vilkas didn't look for where the flame was coming from, or who fired the lightning bolt that followed. He spotted his great-sword and rushed for it. By the time he had it in hand, the draugr was on the ground, the attacks against it at last having an effect: the decaying flesh charring and blackening, arrow shafts sinking deep and staying. The creature collapsed and no longer moved, but this was no time to take chances. Vilkas strode over, kicking its helm loose, then raised his weapon high and brought it down across the exposed neck, sending the head rolling across the floor.

'_Void take you, cursed thing.'_

Vilkas forced himself to stay aware, the Blood in him scouring the rest of the chamber for threats and reestablish its connection with—_Deanne_!

She was standing alone before the orb, head raised, un-seeing eyes fixed on it and hands outstretched. The current of magic around the orb now warped to wrap around her as well, her face a twist of concentration and pain.

"Deanne!" Vilkas dashed the distance, reaching for her. But when he touched the swirl of magic, a rush of power surged through him, searing his skin. Vilkas yanked back before his arm could be reduced to ash. What was this? The man stared between the orb and Deanne, feeling the unbreachable barrier trapping her within and Vilkas beyond. What in Oblivion was this thing?

"Deanne! _Deanne_!" She didn't respond. Could she hear him? '_Shor, please._' "Deanne, whatever you're doing, stop!"

Her head ticked toward him. Vilkas held his breath, completely out of his depth where magic was concerned. Helpless. He could only watch, terrified, desperately hopeful she had it in her to hear and act.

Wait. Yes, it was fading. The currents of magic wrapping around the two began to fade, drawing back into the orb. Deanne listed forward as if being pulled with it. Vilkas held, watching, torn, still afraid to reach out lest either of them be destroyed by what she was handling. He might know shit about magic, but the risks of making a mistake with something so powerful were obvious.

"Deanne," he whispered, shifting around in front of her in case she fell. When she came loose she staggered straight into his shoulder, wrapping her arms around it as he took her weight. "Thank the Gods!" Vilkas breathed, pulling her to him. He seized onto the feel of her in his arms. Thanks the Gods, she was alright.

It was hard to tear his senses away. But there might still be risk in the room. Vilkas gave it a necessary survey, not loosening his hold. Draugr dead. Onmund and J'Zargo were staggering over toward the orb. And on the level above? "Aela! Brelyna!"

A beat of silence, then the Huntress was heard to curse. "Get off me!" The Dunmeri squeaked and Aela's head surged into view.

"You two alright?"

Aela shot him a sharp glare. "_Fine_. And you're fondling the female, so I'll assume it's done."

Vilkas didn't rise to the bait. "Aye. That was the last of them."

"Dibella's _tits_, it had better be," she spat. More coarse language. Wasn't he the one supposed to be keeping his temper in check?

Brelyna circled the Huntress and came trotting down the stairs—still intact after the battle but holding a healing spell to her shoulder—to join the mages now gathered at the orb. "So this is it," the Dunmer marveled.

"Yes, it is…" The Khajiit stalled. "What is it?"

"Don't know. Doesn't look Nordic or Atmoran, though," the Nord mage offered. "Brelyna, do the markings look familiar to you?"

They were fresh out of a furious battle and already positing on their find. Mages.

In the meantime, Brelyna shook her head. "No. I don't even recognize the letters. If they are letters. Deanne, you were doing…something with it. What is this thing?"

Deanne turned in Vilkas's arms, but stayed settled against him, answering blearily, "I…I felt the draugr connected with it. He was using it to protect himself. But when I reached out to it…" She hesitated. "It looked at me…and it felt like I was everywhere at once. I don't know _what_ it is." She shivered and sank back into him.

Vilkas could tell she was done with this adventure and all in sundry. And frankly, so was he. The objective had been reached. Time to go. "Fine then. We've found your magic…thing. It's time we got up and told the rest of your folk what's down here."

"Wait," the Khajiit insisted. "What did the blind mage do? Tell J'Zargo. If she is going, he wishes to investigate further."

The Nord mage scowled. "Shor's bones, J'Zargo. Do you really want to be messing with something this powerful? We don't need another Midden repeat."

Deanne stirred from her nest in Vilkas's arms. "J'Zargo please, leave it be." Strangely enough, the argument paused. "Whatever this is, it's unimaginably powerful. When it looked at me…" She swallowed but continued. "I could have been winked out of existence. I don't know why I wasn't. Please. Just leave it be. At least until the magisters have taken a look first."

The Khajiit actually subsided, although he was huffy about it. "Fine. J'Zargo will 'leave it be'."

Brelyna executed an intense eye-roll. "Why do you want so badly to go back to the College in a tinderbox"

At this point, Vilkas was happy to tune out the bickering. He leaned down over Deanne's ear. "You want to get out of here?"

She nodded, her cheek pressed against his chest plate. "Yes, please. That orb is…very loud."

Yeah, he could tell. It pounded in his ears and his bones. If Deanne was sensitive to magic like she said, she must be feeling it even more. "Come on." Vilkas reached down and swept her feet up off the ground, carrying her bridal-style toward the stairs while the other mages argued.

He hadn't gone more than a few steps when a new set of footsteps reached his ears. The old bearded magister, Tolfdir, hustled into view on the upper floor. "What is this?"

Vilkas suppressed a scowl and kept his mouth shut. Took him long enough.

Just like that, the apprentices' bickering ceased. "Magister Tolfdir," Brelyna greeted him with forced brightness. "We—uh…didn't expect you to get down here so quickly."

The old man descended the stairs half-intent upon the apprentices and half on the magic orb, "What are you doing down here? And what have you found? Going off on your own. Did you hear none of our words on safety? I've never seen anything like it. Such strange markings. What were you thinking?"

Vilkas retreated as the magister descended with questions spilling from his lips. Deanne had been through enough. Whatever lecture and questioning the magister was about to deal out, the other apprentices could handle. Once the magister was off the stair, Vilkas could skirt around him and head up—

Aela still stood on the upper level, overlooking the chamber, her glare focused on the woman in Vilkas's arms. Something about that look warned that that wasn't such a good choice.

A whiff of growing things reached his nose and Vilkas pinpointed the source as a door behind the floating, glowing orb. It was a risk. But the ancient Nords tended to stop setting defenses at their treasure room. And with the nattering magister advancing on the group and Aela blocking the way out—

Throwing the apprentices under the cart, Vilkas swept back around and made for the unfamiliar door.

Vilkas eased it open with a shoulder and took a deliberate sniff of the inside. Moss, grass and damp. And no sign of undead. So he entered, taking care not to bump Deanne into anything. Her familiar slipped in before the door could close all the way, and the relentless roar of the orb was cut off.

About now she realized they'd moved. "Vilkas? Where are we going?"

"Just finding somewhere to rest. Without going through your chaperone." The single separation from other folk and Vilkas felt his Blood settle, though the focus on Deanne's scent and heartbeat remained. Again, Vilkas had to focus forward before he sank into those sensations close at hand.

The room was mostly empty. There were no floor slabs in here. The dirt was bare and now overgrown with grass and ferns. There was a decorative wall on the far side with gouges in the stone, but the room was largely plain. It had probably been a growing area for something. At least until the end, when someone had decided it would be the perfect place to hide a treasure chest. Too close to 'the end' to even finish, it looked like. The chest—one of the big ones—was barely half buried, the shovels dropped partway through hiding it. Worth investigating. But later. Right now, the greenery were more inviting than the potential for treasure.

Vilkas carried Deanne in and set her down amidst the fronds and began a complete overview of her person. He wanted to make sure she hadn't been hurt in the fight or by that orb thing. Though, really, it was more about touching her. Making sure that he could. What had happened in there, being so close and yet unable to reach her, separated by that thin yet insurmountable obstacle…

Finding no damage, the warrior sat down and pulled her against him, wary of his armor and how she still drooped. He'd never felt so helpless. And he wasn't even talking about the draugr. No matter the enemy or the circumstance, there was always somethinghe could do: retreat, advance, maneuver, wait. Something. But then he'd never encountered magic like _that_ before. What good was he against something like that? He could handle just about anything he could meet with his blade and his arm. But magic? That was work for a mage. A title that, even Vilkas couldn't deny, belonged to Deanne.

Not that that helped with the way his gut churned at the thought of her doing it.

The man breathed out over her crown. "I don't know if I can do that again, little one." She made a sound and curled inward, ducking away from his sight. "No, that's not—"

He wasn't demanding anything. Yes, he hated that she'd been in danger. But if she hadn't done what she had—_whatever_ she had—when she did, then he'd be dead. Maybe all of them. Battle was his skill. And magic was hers. And never the twain would meet. This wasn't him forbidding her doing it. It was more him hating that she'd had to.

Deanne whimpered and squirmed. He felt her tremble beneath his arms and realized her reaction wasn't to do with him. "What is it? What's wrong?"

Her hands rose to lock over her ears, her face contorted in pain. "Loud. Too loud. _Hurts_!"

Vilkas looked to the door, now closed and muffling the sound of the orb on the other side. Was it still affecting her? He had to get her further away.

Vilkas swept Deanne up in his arms and made for the other side of the room, away from the door. Deanne immediately cried out and began thrashing, trying to get free of his hold. Vilkas tripped over the neglected shovel in his haste, staggering and just managing not to crash them into the scratched up wall. She went rigid, head thrown back, eyes peeled wide, gasping for air like there was none.

And all Vilkas could do was stare on. Helpless. _Useless_.

"Help!" he bellowed, holding tight as she seized and shook violently in his arms. "HELP!"

XXX

Too loud. _Too loud_. Not like the Augur and not like the orb, but it drowned out the world just the same. A chanting that sounded from somewhere inside her head. A hundred thousand voices shouting from an eon away, too loud to block out, too distant to understand. It rang through her, down into her very core, reaching every part of her being and leaving her nowhere to escape. She was swept up, unable to do anything as it consumed her from the inside out.

It left her feeling cold and stiff, chilled solid, unable to move or think. All she knew was the frigid ice that brought the world to stillness with its touch, that left all unmoving in its wake. The cold that burrowed into flesh and marrow. That froze the body. She felt it. _Had _felt it. The night on the mountain with Vilkas so long ago. She felt it all again, drawn up by the deafening chant and thrown in her face. The memory of the chill that went deep and the body that would not move, the authority of snow and ice.

Somewhere outside her prison there were voices. Hands and magic touched her that she couldn't feel, voices spoke that she couldn't make out beyond the chant in her mind. A chant that seemed to be receding. The world swam back to her. She was pinned to a surface and jostled. No more talking. Deanne dragged herself back to awareness from under the voices which were falling to whispers in the dark.

Full awareness only returned when a blast of frigid air enveloped her. Deanne flinched away, the memory of the terrible ice too fresh, and words broke free of her mouth. "No! No, not that! Not again! No!"

Vilkas shifted his grip, trying to hold her still and readjust the cloak to cover her. "Easy. It's alright. We're taking you back to the College."

She squirmed and begged, "Please don't take me out there. Please!" He tried to keep his grip against her struggle, but she wouldn't stop. Not the cold. Not again.

Vilkas fell to a crouch and grasped her face in one hand, pressing them cheek to cheek. She felt the warmth of his breath on her ear as he whispered, "It's going to be okay. I promise I'll keep you safe. But we need to get you back to the College. Trust me, alright?"

A chilly trail charted down her cheek, tears frozen by the wind. "_Don't leave me out there._"

"Not ever," he promised, his fingertips curling in her hair. Deanne pressed into him, trembling. The feeling of being frozen solid still echoing in the depths of her mind. "I swear."

It took all of Deanne's strength to nod.

Just like that she was up in his arms again. Not how he'd carried her during their first travel, but she preferred it this way: being held to his chest rather than perched on his back. Before, so soon after the bandits, she wouldn't have been able to handle being held this way, even by him. Now it was exactly what she needed.

There was a rapid ascent, wood creaking and thudding beneath two sets of feet, then the crunch of stone and snow. Vilkas and someone else? Deanne didn't have it in her to figure out their identity. It was all she could do not to think about the cold and ice and the sensation of freezing to death—

She focused on Vilkas's grip, his steps, the movement of his body as he carried her away from Saarthal. Her anchor in the storm.

XXX

Vilkas paced back and forth in the courtyard. What he wouldn't give for a training dummy about now. Or something he could hit. But the College of Winterhold wasn't exactly equipped for the warrior types.

The Altmer had driven Vilkas out of Deanne's chamber when that Restoration expert had showed up. Restoration expert, not healer. What was the difference? Wasn't Restoration magic healing magic? He'd made the mistake of asking that one out loud and the magister had gone off on a tirade about her studies. The Altmer had been quick to separate them, sending Vilkas outside where his 'fretting' wouldn't distract them.

And why did she have to tell him she wasn't a healer anyway? Like he wasn't worried enough as it was. First Deanne rushing into a losing battle-zone, does Shor-knew-what with some powerful magical thing, and then a seizure after all seemed well. The fact she seemed completely fine by the time they pounded on the gate to the College was beside the point. If that 'Restoration expert' couldn't figure out what was wrong, then she damned well ought to pick a different field of study.

Vilkas turned to the side and pressed his forehead to the stone wall there. The conversation with their Arch-mage hadn't helped, either.

"_Please don't tell me another one of the apprentices has been incinerated. I have enough to deal with right now."_

Vilkas hadn't known what was worse: the first words out of this supposed maser-wizard's mouth, or the world-weary tone in which they were uttered.

"_I've got a message from Saarthal. They found some…orb thing. Tolfdir said you ought to go have a look at it. As soon as possible." No time to be polite. Not if it kept him from being nearby when they finished checking Deanne over._

"_I…see. I trust Tolfdir will provide more…specific explanation."_

If the warrior hadn't been so eager to get back to Deanne he might have punched him, consequences be damned. Mages! Not all mages. Just these damned, arrogant milk-drinkers who played with so much power they felt they could treat important, dangerous circumstances like they were boring. The group could have been killed and their Arch-mage had the gall to sound bored?!

Didn't matter. Vilkas had delivered Tolfdir's message and could get back to Deanne's chamber to check on her. Another squall from the females, another ousting and door in his face. In the end, it was too much to stand impotent in the hallway with is senses locked onto Deanne through the door and Vilkas came out here to make tracks in the snow.

She had to be alright. He needed her to be alright.

A banging on the front gate brought Vilkas's attention around. He walked into view to see Aela on the other side with two travel packs on the ground. He went over and let her in—still couldn't figure out how this gate worked.

"What's this for?"

Aela dropped one of the packs at his feet with more disinterest than was necessary. "Ready to leave when you are," she answered. When he didn't budge or reach for the pack, she pressed, "You said you were staying for the female to go to that ruin for their research. Well she went, and now she's back. Let's get out of here."

Vilkas shot a scowl at his shield-sister. She couldn't possibly be this stupid or cruel. "Not until I know she's alright."

The Huntress snapped around to stare at him. "Am I hearing this? You're still hung up on her? After what we saw?"

"She couldn't have known about the draugr or the orb. She did what she had to do, and it worked—"

"The wolf spirit, ice-brain!" she snapped. "How can you even touch her seeing what she's done to it? To one of our own?"

Vilkas's scowl darkened. "Not one of _my_ own."

Aela scoffed, the old conflict coming up between them. "See the Blood as you want. Call it a curse, if you and the old man hate it so much. But you can't deny that the Wolves of Hircine are kin to us. And to see one of them bound and relegated to a _pet_…" She spat on the cobbles, dirtying the doorstep of the place Deanne called home. "The sooner we leave here, the better."

Vilkas glanced up the walk toward the door to Deanne's Hall. "After I know she's alright."

"By the Void, what has she done to you?"

Turning to look, he found her staring as though Aela had come to some horrific realization. And Vilkas realized she'd meant it as more than just an expression. "She hasn't 'done' anything."

"Bullshit!" Aela spat. "This is the female who managed to subdue one of Hircine's wolves to her bidding. And we both saw what she did to that orb, without preparation, while the rest of them are still scrambling with what it even is. And you have _never_ been this serious over a female before."

"Which should tell you something," Vilkas countered.

Aela's face twisted. "Exactly my point. How long have you known her? You've spent—what?—two weeks with her? A bit more over a year ago? And suddenly you're ready to drop everything to serve her? Do you see what you're doing? Do you even know what she's capable of? How do you know she hasn't spelled you?"

Vilkas whipped around on her. "She hasn't spelled me!"

"How would you even know?" she threw back.

Vilkas got right up in Aela's face. "You ask me if I know what she's capable of. She is not capable of that. I know. My decisions are my own, no matter what you think. And I am not leaving here until I know Deanne is going to be alright without me. If you've got a problem with that, then leave. I told you I didn't need a keeper. I'll get back to Jorrvaskr in my own time, with or without you."

They stared each other down, giving no ground. There was no spell here, no matter what Aela said. Maybe bewitchment was possible. Maybe Deanne even knew how to do it. But she wasn't mentally capable of doing that to a person. Vilkas knew that for sure.

The Companions held their stare-down for a long while until Aela blinked and snorted in contempt. "Kodlak is the one calling you back to Jorrvaskr. I'm just the messenger. Do what you want. But you know as well as I do that, even if this is all you, there's no way this thing you're doing could last." She turned on him and snatched up her pack from where it lay. Vilkas let her go, keeping his mouth shut as the Huntress walked out the College gates and slammed hem shut behind her.

Vilkas turned and put his back to the wall, crossing his arms and locking them in place. He wasn't spelled. His Blood's focus on her presence was his concern manifest, nothing more. And the wolf spirit…

Alright, he hadn't expected that. Seeing the beast there and so obviously comfortable in its role had been a shock. But it wasn't related. Deliberately, anyway. Vilkas had explained to Deanne about him taking a beast into himself when he took the Blood. But he hadn't said anything about Hircine or Oblivion. She couldn't possibly know that her familiar was related in any way to the Beast Blood. Could she?

No. Absolutely not. She'd have said something. She didn't know. He hadn't told her enough for her to know. And it had nothing to do with the accusations Aela was throwing around. Nothing at all.

The Altmer magister found him there a long time later. Her first glance was to his face, and her second to the pack on the ground. "Going somewhere, warrior?"

Vilkas bit down on a retort about her minding her own business, and asked instead, "How is she?"

The womer accepted the change in subject gracefully. "Fine. Whatever happened in Saarthal left no lasting impact we can detect. I expect we'll learn more once the College has had time to study the artifact itself. In the meantime, she's asked for you."

The man nodded and unshackled himself from the wall. He took a step toward the Hall, then belatedly reached to retrieve his pack. The magister watched his every move.

"Have you settled on your intentions yet?"

"…No," he ground out.

A pair of golden eyes appraised him closely. Vilkas half expected her to make a demand. Or a threat. Or some kind of warning. But the reply was much softer. "Do not hurt her."

He spent long enough in surprise that she took her leave, heading for the main College. Vilkas looked after her for a few heartbeats before making his way back to Deanne's Hall.

When he reached her room Deanne was settled in bed. Her scent and heartbeat told of ease. The stuffed comforter was pulled up to her waist, a heap of pillows propped between her and the headboard, and her fur spread out over her lap. She looked adorable in all that soft bedding. What he wouldn't give to curl up in there with her—

"—_relegated to a _pet_—"_

He flinched as Aela's words struck out at him. That wasn't it. That wasn't it at all!

Shoving the thoughts away, he knocked gently on the doorframe to announce himself. "Hey. How're you doing?"

The smile she gave him made Vilkas's heart swell up. "Fine. I told you I was."

"Yeah. You did," he admitted, setting his pack down at the door and going to sit on the side of her bed. "But better safe than sorry. You scared me back there, little one."

She grasped handfuls of the fur, casting her eyes down. "I know. And I'm sorry. For scaring you. And insisting. But not for doing it. I had to. If I hadn't—"

Vilkas reached out and removed the fur from her grasp, replacing the material with his own hands. "I know," he repeated back to her.

He turned her hands over and massaged her palms with her thumbs, watching the fingers curl and uncurl as he worked the flesh and tendons. Such little things to hold back the sort of power in that orb. Maybe what he said hadn't been the whole truth. Vilkas did know her: Deanne the woman. But Deanne the mage? If he had to be honest then…no, he didn't know what she was capable of. And Shor's bones, he didn't even have the time to find out.

"I gotta go," he admitted. Her hands tensed under his but weren't pulled away, though her scent stung a bit.

"Back to Whiterun?"

"Mm-hm." Vilkas shifted his grip, flattening his hands out and covering her palms with his, fingers extended over the pulse-points in her wrists. _Ba-bump. Ba-bump. _"Don't know how long it'll be before I can come back."

Deanne bobbed her head and he smelled the salty tang of her sorrow before the tears ever escaped her eyes. They'd both known it was coming. Not so strangely, that didn't make it any easier.

"What if I came with you?" she asked abruptly. Almost immediately, she clapped her mouth shut and turned away, like she hadn't meant to say it out loud.

Vilkas chuckled and brought her hands up to kiss her wrists, gently, firmly, one after the other. "Tempting." She had no idea how tempting. "Maybe next time, eh? Since you're still recovering."

Deanne frowned, but didn't argue. "Colette said it was the excitement." She reached up to touch the mass of pillows at her back. "But that didn't keep them from treating me like I might fall apart again at any moment."

Vilkas chuckled, imagining the two magisters bundling her into bed like hens. "We know you're stronger than that, don't we?"

An attractive blush shaded her cheeks as her eyes tilted away again.

It hadn't been the excitement. No one could tell him anything but that her collapse had to do with that orb. Gods, what had she done to it? What was she capable of? He wanted to know. To understand. But there just wasn't time right now.

Vilkas kissed her wrists again, drawing in her scent, knowing it might be the last time for a long time he'd be able to do either. "I'll come back as soon as I can. Then we'll talk about you coming to Whiterun. I want to show it to you."

He made to rise but Deanne seized his hands before he could. "Wait!" But when he halted, attention fully on her, she faltered, going silent, nervous fingers still holding him in place. "I-I…Since you're leaving…Could we—I mean, I'd like to…If you would…" Vilkas watched her tongue flick out, wetting her lips, and caught a breath of rich desire.

Bad idea. With where they were: alone in her bedchamber. With where she was: nestled in bedding. With how she looked: willing, delectable. How she sounded, smelled, felt—

But how long would it be before he had another chance for this?

Void take it!

He surged to her, pressing Deanne down into the bedding and claiming her mouth without preamble. This kiss had none of the sweetness they'd shared before. This was all ferocity and need, with some desperation given the dark loom of the days ahead. The soft mattress gave way beneath his urgency, sinking them both down into it. Vilkas plied her lips apart and delved inside, tasting, taking. Anything and everything he could get.

Some part of his mind pulled ineffectively on his collar, arguing he shouldn't be doing this. Not so much, so fast, without her permission.

That was until Deanne wrapped her arms around his neck and met him stroke for stroke, tilting her mouth to his, seeking to tie their tongues together. Vilkas's mind flipped on its head. The rush of her response was indescribable. It did things to him he had never experienced before. And with the mattress beneath them…

How easy would it be to shift sideways and cover her with his body? Delve into the blankets and find the sweet flesh beneath her hems? Search out the buckles of his armor and shuck it all, then give her exactly what she couldn't know she was begging for? Be her _first_? _Now_.

It was like dragging a hound off a kill to get them separate. It didn't help at all how she looked at their parting: dazed and flushed, breathing heavily with her lips swollen from his assault. Gods, what would she look like after a long session of love-making? Or the morning after, the tangle of her hair spread out on the pillows and wrapped around his arms, the imprint of the blankets on her cheeks? Perhaps even a bit of drool where she'd spent the night draped over his chest and close to his heart.

He needed to know what that looked like. What it felt like. Needed to know everything about her. But there just wasn't time now.

Vilkas stood before he could falter in his resolve. A last sweep of fingers over her cheeks and he stepped away, no matter how much his beast howled for him to stay. Which decided him. Their first time—_her _first time—would not be with an animal.

"I'll come back," he promised, backing to the door and pawing clumsily for his pack. "I swear that."

Deanne struggled up from where he'd laid her out. "Vilkas…Stay safe."

He gazed at her, nestled in the bedding, still showing evidence of his attentions. Gods, this was an image he would remember. "I will. And you."

They clung to the moment, by sight and presence, until another instant would see him stay at her side.

The blast of cold wind was welcome when he stepped outside. No one was present to hold him up in the courtyard or the gate. He made it down the path to the mainland and onto solid ground without human or mer interaction, though he fought his beast every step of the way.

But the call of Jorrvaskr and the Harbinger was great enough to catch his focus, responsibility rearing its head. Deanne called up new impulses and possibilities. Things he needed to think about. He'd be back, that was certain. But the Companions needed him, too, and he would answer.

Vilkas took the main road out of Winterhold. Over the first rise, he came on Aela loitering on a stone. The Huntress stood up when he drew near and they continued down the road together. Neither addressed the fact she'd waited on him. Had she thought he wouldn't keep his word? That he'd draw out his departure or put it off entirely? Didn't matter. They were on their way now. It was a long way to Whiterun, and neither of them were talkers. He'd have plenty of time to think.

**Fhew! Made it. I figured Vilkas leaving was the best spot to leave this chapter. You all waited so long for this update, and the next chapter would be either short or awkward if I cut it after the fight. I hope you enjoyed the chapter. Thanks for reading!**


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